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A WORLDS SHRINE 

VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON 





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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



A World's Shrine 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/worldsshrineOOjohn 




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A World's Shrine 



By 

Virginia W, Johnson 

Author of "The Lily of the Arno,'"' ** America"' s God- 
father,'"' *' Genoa, the Superb," '* The House 
of the Musician," etc. 



" / have brought you a little gift from my native 
place ..." 

Pliny, the Younger 



New York 

A. S. Barnes & Company 

1902 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two CowES Received 

JUL. 10 1902 

^ COPVRIQHT ENTRY 

VJCLASS ^XXa No. 
COPY B. 



Copyright^ igo2, 
By a. S. Barnes & Company 



All rights reserved. 
Published June^ igo2 



A 



V 



\r 



UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON 
AND SON . CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 



Contents 



I. The Four Gates of a Tiny Eden 

II. Across the Centuries .... 

III. The Country Gentleman 

IV. A Vanished House .... 
V. Pliny's Rose . » . . . . 

VI. At the Spring ...... 

VII. A Temple of Jupiter .... 

VIII. Signal Towers . . . „ , 

IX. An Anchorite ...... 

X. A Mediaeval Queen .... 

XI. A Tiny Gibraltar ..... 

XII. A Sportsman of the Middle Ages 

XIII. Spanish Footsteps 

XIV. A Witch ....... 

XV. The Magicians 

XVI. *' All the World's a Stage" 

XVII. A Musical Memory .... 

XVIII. A Fisherman ...... 

XIX. The Human Key-Stone 

V 



Page 

3 

7 

i8 

54 
6i 
70 
81 
90 

95 
104 
I II 
119 

125 
140 
149 
160 
176 
189 

195 



Contents 

THE SEASONS. 

/. Winter. Page 

XX. A Patriarchal Villa 209 

//. Spring. 
XXI. Blossoms 219 

///. Summer. 
XXII. A Conceited Snail 227 

IF. Autumn. 

XXIII. His Own Vine and Fig-Tree . . . 239 

XXIV. Boyhood .254 

XXV. Tragedy in Sunshine 266 

XXVI. The Winds of Como 272 



VI 



Illustrations 



CoMO Frontispiece '^ 

The Cathedral of Como Facing Page 14 



Bellaggio . . .^. 

The Comacina 

A Village Street . . . . 
Home of Queen Caroline 

A Como Girl 

Menaggio 



66 v=' 
114 ^ 
144 y 

160 w^ 

242 

280 



WORTHY Pausanius is congratulated 
that after the lapse of some seven- 
teen centuries his work on Greece 
should be read by unknown na- 
tions as a sort of classical Murray or Baedeker. 
Courage, painstaking compiler of even a local 
guidebook ! Do not apologise to a critical and 
bored public for such labour of love, but hold 
up thy head, and dare to face the audience, which 
may prove to be future generations. 



A World's Shrine 



THE FOUR GATES OF A TINY EDEN 

t^ FLOAT on Como ! Such is the dream, 
/ ^k at least once in a lifetime, of the most 
f~ ^Bk prosaic mortal. What memories the 
mere suggestion evokes ! A sheet 
of crystal, set deep in the enfolding hills like 
a cup, this goal of summer travel possesses a 
charm of association for each new generation. 
Lake Como is a siren ever young. The shel- 
tered haunt is unique among the inland sheets 
of water of the earth in a certain richness of 
historical association in the lapse of centuries. 
The finger of Time may mark the crumbling 
ruins of monastery and fortress on slope or 
promontory, but the clear, pellucid surface still 
reflects the passing clouds. Pilgrims of every 

3 



A World^s Shrine 



race thus seek these shrines. Does not the 
German savant muse over his pipe of the 
Wanderjahre of adolescence when every stu- 
dent, inspired by Goethe, visited Italy, and he 
climbed the heights of Como, light of heart 
and purse, to sleep at wayside inns, and gather 
cystus, primula, or gentian in the valleys and 
ravines? The grandparents in their chimney- 
corner, within sound of the North Sea, smile at 
each other in celebrating their Golden Wedding 
such time as the bride and bridegroom of to-day 
prepare their modern luggage for a journey to 
Bellaggio. Is not the American soothed by 
the souvenir of drifting idly in a boat beneath 
garden hedges of bay and Cyprus, redolent of 
the terraces of jasmine, magnolia, orange, and 
citron beyond, in a brief expansion of freedom 
from the bondage of routine? Como opens her 
gates in welcome. On the south side the tourist 
quits the train which has glided through the 
mazes of the St. Gothard route at the town, 
and launches on the narrow channel wending 
between green hills to open spaces beyond. 

4 



The Four Gates of a Tiny Eden 



Eastward Lecco lures the wayfarer from the 
marble silence of Venice, reflecting dome and 
parapet in sluggish lagoons, to the blooming 
freshness of the Brianza, past Castello, the pil- 
grim shrine of Baro, and the Val Madrera. 
Westward Menaggio guards the twin portal 
from Lugano, the realm of peaceful countryside, 
with beech and walnut, ripening fig and grape, 
spanned by a toy railway adapted to a holiday- 
making mood. The mountain world is sentinel 
of the North, where hurrying crowds descend 
from glacier and snow-field in the brief hours of 
summer to Colico and Varenna. Oh, friendly 
reader, avoid all other craft, from the plodding 
daily steamer to the lumbering camballo, with 
odd rudder and arabesque gunwale, the barge of 
Pliny's time, and embark in the light skiff of 
Memory on these tranquil waters ! Follow your 
own whim of the moment, and adorn the shallop 
with such pomp of imagination as the wreath of 
laurel, arazzi, and pictures on the fleet of boats 
which celebrated the marriage of Gian Galeazzo 
in 1493, to make short voyages from inlet to 

5 



A World's Shrine 



rocky point. Pliny's own cockle-shell, with 
painted planks, awnings, garlands of roses, and 
leaves twined about the staves, may even suit 
better your caprice. Hoist a filmy sail of fancy, 
and breast the tide independent of those winds 
of Como, the night Tivano the tramontana, or ia 
Breva of midday from the southwest. Dip the 
oar of reverie into the stream of Lethe in shore, 
where roses shed their petals on marble steps 
laved by the tide, and orchids spread wings of 
white, pink, and sulphur tints amidst the shrub- 
bery, and hold converse with a shadowy brother- 
hood of past generations who have done likewise. 
Years are as a day here, and the recurring 
seasons only change the scenes of a mimic 
theatre. 



II 

ACROSS THE CENTURIES 

THAT south gate of Como, the cradle 
of Pliny the Younger, is neither es- 
pecially picturesque in situation, nor 
attractive in architecture, placed as 
it is between the narrow strip of water and the 
higher level of the railway. The town has been 
described as resembling a crab stretched along 
the shore and slope. This miniature sovereign 
of a little world has a history out of all propor- 
tion to existing magnitude. Como may be com- 
pared to a drop of water reflecting the colours of 
environment. 

Ancient Italian chroniclers, leisurely discur- 
sive in the treatment of history through musty 
volumes on library shelves, trace the settlement 
of Como to Comerus, the ancestor of Japeth, one 
hundred and thirty years after the Deluge. 

7 



A World's Shrine 



Still another version is the founding of the place 
by a certain Antenore, who also built Padua 
after the destruction of Troy. A further infer- 
ence is that the Etruscans in sending forth twelve 
colonies to build cities from the Po to the Alps, 
traced these boundaries as well. A first group 
of habitations, round in shape, constructed of 
interlaced branches, or reeds, with a thatched 
roof, expanded, in time, to a Latin colony of the 
date of the Roman Republic. The town, shown 
favour by Caesar and Augustus, and boasting of 
Etruscan and Greek culture in the inhabitants, 
had a Forum, Gymnasium, Bath, Basilica, and 
Portico. Assuredly the nocturnal Triumviri of 
such cities were no other than the flying squadron 
of Carabinieri taking the beat of the suburbs of 
Italian towns in the nineteenth century. The 
theatre was already an important feature, as is 
the modern circus. Placards were posted about 
the streets vaunting the tricks of the jugglers, 
and inviting the public to witness the feats of 
acrobats in an interior perfumed with the scents 
of crocus and saffron essences. Traffic had 

8 



Across the Centuries 



many similarities with the present day. No 
doubt the piercing cry of the vendor of feather- 
dusters, dried melon-seeds, nuts, leeks, fish, fruit, 
doughnuts, or buns has descended, as traditional, 
through the centuries. The native of Como 
could then buy of the stout cook, in cap and 
apron, at the corner, presiding over furnace and 
marmite of hot bubbling oil, a dainty morsel, 
crisp and tempting, equivalent to the slice of 
polenta, little fish, or bit of artichoke of his des- 
cendants. The cook is as old as Pompeii, thus 
depicted, at least. The vendor of hot sausages, a 
delicacy imported from Gaul, smoked, was also 
there to serve a portion from a covered dish. A 
goblet of honey wine was refreshing, on occasion, 
as were the crustulariiy slices of toasted bread, 
eggs, and pastry. The illumination of the town 
must have been inadequate before the fourth 
century, as even Rome lacked sufficient light, 
except on the celebration of such f^tes as the 
honours paid to Caesar after quelling the Catiline 
conspiracy. 

Thus little Como acquired the dimensions of a 

9 



A World's Shrine 



town of importance while apparently insignificant. 
A tiny queen of a tiny realm, the city ruled all 
those villages situated on the border of the lake. 
At times these were mutinous, treacherous, and 
disloyal. Now Domaso required to be punished 
and pardoned, with the exaction of tribute, and 
the rule of Como was pushed to the Valtellina 
and Coire. Now little Gravedona, Menaggio, or 
Bellaggio plotted darkly with such foes as Milan, 
in the strife of Guelph and Ghibelline factions, 
when Como was but a shuttlecock tossed between 
rival German emperor and French king. The 
history of Como, in miniature, is that of Italy. 
The doughty capital maintained a footing under 
diverse patron princes, and defied neighbours, as 
well as essayed to strengthen its borders against 
foreign foes. Plutarch mentioned Milan as a 
populous city. Como came, in due course of 
years, to enjoy more secure roads, free of rob- 
bers {Masriadieri) y dug trenches, and added 
buttresses to the walls. 

Across the centuries, behold the Cavalier 
Arnaldo Caligno meeting Gilardo of Nonza in 

lO 



Across the Centuries 



single combat for the glory of their respective 
towns in 1120. The struggle between Como 
and Milan of 1127 was still more momentous 
than individual rivalry. Milan was aided by 
Pavia, Novara, Asti, Vercelli, Cremona, Piacenza, 
Parma, Mantua, Ferrara, and Bologna. These 
allies brought four towers of wood, covered with 
leather, and four engines to shoot stone missiles 
for the siege. In vain Como covered her forti- 
fications with hides, flexible boughs, and boats, 
the women and boys assisting in the work. The 
place was forced to capitulate on August twenty- 
seventh to so many foes, and the inhabitants 
abandoned their post during the night, and fled 
to various asylums. Native poets compare the 
disaster to the fall of Troy. Milan boasted that 
Como was rased, and the ground sown with salt 
in complete desolation, but the statement is 
false, as many ancient buildings, relics of the 
Roman occupation remained after the disaster. 
The Villa Fossani of Paolo Giovio, the reputed 
site of Pliny's birthplace, in the environs, had 
still massive fragments, carved marble, and dis- 

II 



A World's Shrine 



lodged columns, of an earlier structure in recent 
days. Frederick Barbarossa entered Italy by 
the route of Trent in 1154. He compelled 
Milan to free Como of her yoke. In an edict 
of 1 1 59, he commended Como, and the town 
remained faithful to him. Praise of this despot 
emanated from such sources of gratitude, while 
to the Lombard League he was a monster of 
cruelty. When Barbarossa lacked silver and 
had money made of leather, as a substitute, 
Como must have loyally spent the new currency. 
The walls rose once more by his order, con- 
structed in a rectangular parallelogram from the 
Porta Sala to the lake, by Loterio Rusca, cap- 
tain of the people, with a moat and rampart, 
planted with trees, of which traces are discernible. 
Later, a Spanish governor built three towers, and 
a fortification with eight gates on the side of 
Milan. Francesco Cigalio wished to rebuild the 
suburbs of San Rocco and San Bartolomeo at 
his own expense. The houses were rude, covered 
with reeds, maize-stalks, straw, or thin shingles, 
as were those of Alessandria, Milan, and Nice. 



12 



Across the Centuries 



In the year 1209, the municipality ordered the 
use of tiles. The three castles erected to defend 
the town were the Nuovo, above San Martino, 
Ceruasino, and Baradello. Quarters were appor- 
tioned to the garrison, and there was a Palace of 
the Podesta. Valiant Como again prepared to 
hold head with enemies, and set up her own 
carroccioy the car invented by the warrior Bishop 
of Milan, Ariberto, to assemble the citizens to 
arms. The vehicle had four painted wheels, a 
mast in the centre, surmounted by a golden 
apple, from which floated the standard of the 
Commune, together with the cross, or some 
symbol of the town. Two pairs of oxen, decked 
with coloured trappings, and preceded by 
trumpeters, dragged this car, which was the 
rallying-point even in such engagements as the 
famous battle of Legnano, when the power of 
Barbarossa was finally overthrown by the League 
of the Lombard cities. Como lost a great pro- 
tector, yet was swayed by all the events of the 
date, the struggle of personal egotism in magis- 
trates and governors, or the wider impulse of 

13 



A World's Shrine 



romance and adventure aroused by the Crusades, 
and the marvellous tales of the riches of the 
Orient. In 1288, the plague laid a cold hand on 
all this world, yet did not wholly check the 
vital development in the soul of man of life and 
beauty amidst such surroundings of nature. In 
1403, Como was sacked by Pandolfo Malatesta, 
who stormed the place by the round tower. The 
love of power and luxury grew apace in all these 
communities. Gian Galeazzo Visconti began to 
build the Milan Cathedral with the aid of German 
architects. Como, in her day, erected her Duomo 
and Broletto, side by side, with knotted shaft, 
many-coloured marbles, red, white, and dark- 
grey, arcaded corbels, and doorways of the Lom- 
bard character of the late Gothic, with hint of 
the presence of Bramante and Giotto in the task. 
Gian Galeazzo gave a banquet when the Bishop 
of Novara, Pietro di Candia, had delivered an 
oration on the Piazza of San Ambrogio, at Milan. 
The vessels were of precious metals at this 
sumptuous entertainment, with draperies of silk. 
The guests were refreshed with distilled waters 

14 





The Cathedral of Como 



Across the Centuries 



for the hands, and given marchpane, and cakes 
of pine-nuts, gilded, bearing the arms stamped 
on them of His Serene Highness, and served with 
cups of white wine. This was truly a golden feast, 
fulfilling the curious idea that food silvered or 
gilded signified delicious luxury. Hare, pheasants, 
turkeys, mutton, sausage with Greek wine, and 
fowls served to garnish two whole bears, gilded, 
with citron, two kids, a silver shell containing an 
entire stag gilded, a tortoise silvered, and plat- 
ters of trout, lampreys, and sturgeon. Four pea- 
cocks in their plumage, galantines, pastry, fresh 
almonds, peaches, syrups, and Malvasia flanked 
these triumphs of the culinary art of the time. 

Como, also exercised hospitality at this date. 
The record is given of a citizen who spread a 
banquet with three calves, fifteen kids, one hun- 
dred pigeons and quails, ten hares, twelve rabbits, 
and forty pheasants, with pastry, tarts, ragouts 
with sugar, and three casks of wine. 

The folly of feminine attire was freely satirised 
in the descendants of Pliny's mother and wife at 
Como, under the rule of Francesco Sforza, as 

15 



A World's Shrine 



indeed, the earlier, classical ladies had been ridi- 
culed by Martial and Juvenal. The women were 
taxed with finding themselves embellished by- 
voluminous dresses, with trains from the collar, 
large sleeves, rich cloaks and muffs, the chemise 
embroidered with gold, ten braccia of the linen of 
Rheims not being more than sufficient for a gar- 
ment, until they resembled a cask. The hair was 
short, like that of a man, and shaved on the tem- 
ples, as the head was covered with a net of col- 
oured silk, ribbons, pins, plumes, and flowers. 
The robe was cloth-of-gold, with velvet girdle 
and pocket, the bosom uncovered, and many 
gems worn. 

Across the centuries the first printing-press 
reached the shores of Como, invented by John 
Gutenberg of Mayence, the roll of papyrus having 
yielded place to sheepskin, and the twelfth cen- 
tury triumphed with paper made of rags. If the 
two Plinys quitted their niche beside the portal of 
the Como Cathedral to inspect the printing-press 
what must have been the emotions — even as 
bloodless shades — of these note-taking citizens? 

i6 



Across the Centuries 



Charles V. visited Como in 1 541 with enduring 
result in Spanish rule- 

The French Revolution struck this tiny para- 
dise like a tidal wave in 1796. Equality and 
liberty electrified the atmosphere of the lake 
border with the donning of red caps. La Car- 
magnole was sung by all ranks. The town 
was re-baptised. The Piazza del Duomo 
became della Liberta; the Contrada Odelscalchi 
della Temperanza ; Natta, veneration for the laws ; 
Giovio, hatred of tyranny; and San Giacomo, 
brotherhood. When Bonaparte came he was 
welcomed as the Caporaletto, and shared the 
public enthusiasm. Russian and Austrian influ- 
ences have succeeded. The Latin colony has 
become a modern town with paved streets, gutters, 
street-lamps, Persian shutters, and crystal window- 
panes. The sound of her silk mills is audible 
through the long hours of the summer day, and a 
thread may be chosen from the tangled skein of 
her varied history by the loiterer or the studious 
which will form a link with all her surroundings 
as well. 

2 17 



Ill 

THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN 

PLINY the Younger is ever the host 
who welcomes the visitor to the shores 
of Como. He is portrayed, with all 
the skill of the Renaissance, on one 
side of the portal of the Cathedral, while his worthy 
uncle, Pliny the Elder, flanks the other, Chris- 
tianity has unhesitatingly adopted these pagans. 
If they walked the streets of Como now they 
would doubtless inspire in their fellow-citizens the 
same respect for manifold virtues that fell to their 
portion with their contemporaries. 

On a summer day we naturally relegate the 
senior to the shades, with a passing conviction of 
the guilty frivolity of our own age in comparison 
with his edifying example, in favour of the charm- 
ing personality of the nephew. Every one is 
famiUar with the awe-inspiring zeal in study of 

18 



The Country Gentleman 



Pliny the Elder. The use of time with him was 
fate, as with Marlowe. He made notes, or had a 
slave at his elbow on a journey jotting down 
memoranda. He served in Germany, returned 
to Rome, and spoke in the Forum. He was ap- 
pointed procurator in Spain by Nero, and recalled 
by Vespasian to command the naval armament at 
Misenium. He left his nephew one hundred and 
eighty books in fine writing ; thirty six volumes 
of Natural History ; twenty on the subject of the 
Roman wars in Germany ; and thirty-one on the 
history of his own times. His style lacked the 
elegance of the Golden Age, we are told. He 
discussed the stars, the elements, geography, man, 
animals, plants, and minerals. Buffon said : 
" Pliny worked on a large canvas, and perhaps too 
vast: he wished to embrace all: he seemed to 
have measured nature and found it too small for 
the capacities of his mind. His Natural History 
comprises sky and earth, medicine, commerce, 
navigation, mechanics, the origin of customs ; in 
fact, all human science and arts." 

Pliny the Younger must have sadly needed 

19 



A World's Shrine 



spectacles by the time he had perused his inheri- 
tance, if he ever conscientiously read those tomes. 
To the PHnys is attributed holding a heavy globe 
of glass, filled with water, to the eye to render 
objects larger and more distinct. Roger Bacon 
and Salvino degli Armati, of Florence, were as 
yet unborn. Also may one venture to infer 
that there was an element of consolation and 
relief when the fumes of Vesuvius stifled and ex- 
tinguished the learned gentleman before he con- 
signed more of his lucubrations to waxen tablet, 
or papyrus roll? There existed no printing-press 
and typewriter to keep the world going in his day. 
Thus C. Plinius, son of a sister and Lucio 
Cecilio, a very ancient and noble family of Greek 
origin, belonging to the Diumvirus of the colony 
Julia Equestria, stepped on the stage at the age 
of eighteen years, with the death of his uncle. 
Let us cling to our idols while we may. The 
arrow of modern sarcasm has been launched at 
this paragon. He is pronounced a muff, a tire- 
some and pedantic prig. French wit terms him 
" that ninny of a Pliny the Younger, who 

20 



The Country Gentleman 



studied a Greek oration while Vesuvius engulfed 
five towns." From our point of view, and espe- 
cially on the shores of Como, despite flippant 
aspersions, he shines in the mild radiance of one 
of the most interesting figures of antiquity. He 
was born at Como, A. D, 62, in the paternal man- 
sion, situated in a suburb of the town, and ap- 
proached by a long avenue of trees. Fain would 
we rebuild that home of the patrician Roman 
family which was his cradle, out of the fragments 
of marble columns, cornices, and slabs bearing 
inscriptions still found near the Lake Larius. 
Each new-comer may ponder on the matter in 
his own fashion, and behold rise before his eyes 
once more the ostium, the vestibule, which gave 
an entrance to the house, the external posts for 
the support of lamps, the door, not hung on 
hinges, but with wedge-shaped pins in the hollows 
above and below, or moved by means of bronze 
or iron rings, a portal not fastened during the 
day, and read the salve, traced in mosaic, on the 
threshold. Each can penetrate the inner circle 
of Roman life by the atrium, equivalent to the 

21 



A World's Shrine 



common hall of the Middle Ages, where the fam- 
ily gathered, from birth to death, with the domes- 
tic hearth alight, and the Penates were treasured 
in little cupboards until relegated by fashion to 
more distant quarters. The deceased was laid 
out in state in the atrium^ and the imagines, the 
waxen masks of forefathers, were suspended on 
the walls. The mistress of the house was here 
guardian of the father's strong-box, the house- 
hold bed, and received all visitors and clients, 
while her female slaves worked at looms. When 
the hearth was removed, an altar, or chapel, was 
accorded the Lares, as the Madonna has now a 
shrine near the fire of rustic homes in Italy. 

Plus ga change^ plus c'est la meme chose. 

Beyond were the impluviuniy the cistern, or 
fountain, with four-cornered basins of the inner 
court, the cuhicula, trincli7iia, balinium, sleeping 
apartments, and slave quarters. Such was the 
fabric of Roman family dignity in organisation. 
Due reverence was paid to the ties of kindred, 
and kindness manifested to distant relatives. 

A gracious vision is vouchsafed to imagination 

22 



The Country Gentleman 



of Pliny's mother, as a bride, attired in a white 
tunic, with a yellow veil, and her hair bound up 
in a net of the same hue, quitting the paternal 
roof after appropriate ceremonies, whether of the 
rites of mamis or confarreatio^ and escorted in 
the evening, under the protection of Juno Domi- 
duca, to her new sphere by a procession. Ser- 
vants carried the basket {cuinerus) containing the 
spinning apparatus of the bride, while the Roman 
thalassio replaced, in song, the Greek Hymengeus. 
Then was the maiden carried over the threshold 
for good luck, and the door-posts were decorated 
for the occasion. Madame Plinia must have been 
one of those matrons above reproach, whose 
epitaphs record their virtues on the Appian Way, 
the Portias, the two Arrias, mother and daughter, 
who formed the solid foundations of State, while 
the Julias, Messalinas, and Faustinas are much 
more likely to be selected for portraiture. If the 
Greek woman was kept shut up in \h.Q gyncekonitis, 
the Roman was treated with open regard, as the 
housewife, mistress of the domestic economy, 
and instructress of the children. 

23 



A World's Shrine 



Pliny saw the light of day on the shores of 
Lake Como. The rights of paterfamilias were 
those of life and death over the child. Did 
Madame Plinia, entered upon all the dignity 
of superintending the household, nourish her son 
at her own breast, after the example of Cato's 
mother, and the earlier custom of Greek and 
Roman women? Rather must we infer that he 
had a foster parent in one of those sun-bronzed, 
vigorous peasants, whose descendants deck their 
heads with silver pins, and ribbons, for he appor- 
tioned property in his will to the value of one 
hundred thousand sesterces to his nurse. A link 
of warm human interest between the remote 
past and the present exists in the bequest of 
Pliny the Younger. The faithful old nurse of 
all lands is revealed, devoted to the care of master 
and family. Pliny's registry of birth must have 
included the depositing of a piece of money at 
the (Brarium of the temple of Juno Lucina. He 
wore the bulla atirea, the flat gold amulet, or 
locket, of children of rank. Assuredly that 
ancient christening party took place in the Como 

24 



The Country Gentleman 



house when he was nine days old of the lustra- 
tiumy under the divinity Nundina. He was thus 
admitted to the family circle, while a formal 
notice of his tender existence was given to the 
prefect of the Treasury, with the entry in the 
Acta diurna. He received gifts from his parents, 
relatives, and even the slaves, of the little, metal 
toys suspended around his neck. He was fed 
on pidSf or gruel, until able to partake of the 
clusina, the Etruscan soup of meat and vegeta- 
bles which became modified into the Tuinestra of 
the land. The slaves and countrywomen did 
the baking. The Roman boy is said to have 
had a sort of pastry made for his especial delecta- 
tion, which no doubt would be appreciated by 
the juvenile palate still. 

Thus did Pliny attain the dignity of sharing 
the domestic meals, the matitudinal jaiitaculum 
of bread, seasoned with salt, cheese, olives, dried 
grapes, eggs, or mulsum ; the noon prandium 
of warm and cold dishes ; and the cena, supper, 
the most important repast of the day. 

Pliny is not to be relegated to the ranks of 

25 



A World's Shrine 



schoolboy. Schools existed at an early date. 
The first mention of them is reputed to have 
been the young girl Virginia tripping along the 
streets of Rome, and espied by the evil Appius 
Claudius. How readily the familiar image of the 
dilatory urchin loitering towards the goal is con- 
jured from the shadows of the past in the mention 
of Horace brought to Rome by his father, as 
the school at Venusium was inferior, or Ovid 
fetched from Sulino to the capital by his brother, 
for the same reason. Oh, there were satchels, 
rulers, counting-tables, desks, and pockets in 
which to hoard treasures in those days ! The 
school was held at a very early hour of the 
morning. The holidays occurred at the season 
of the vintage and the olive harvest. Our young 
gentleman, who is considered the most nearly 
in touch with modern life of any Roman, had 
no such public education. After the conquest 
of southern Italy, the Romans were brought 
in contact with the Greeks, and had domestic 
pedagogi in order that the children might early 
learn to speak Greek, much as the foreign gov- 

26 



The Country Gentleman 



erness instructs infantile lispings of French, Ger- 
man, or English. Prudent fathers inclined to 
private instruction. The elder Cato gave lessons 
to his son, although he had a Greek grammarian 
as tutor. There being no royal road to learning, 
Pliny was doubtless first trained by the slave 
litterator in reading, writing, and arithmetic, im- 
parted in two ways, by signs with the fingers, 
or a counting-table and stones, the abacus and 
calculi, those equivalents of slates and black- 
boards. Geography, mythology, and critical read- 
ings of Homer, Terence, Virgil, and Horace with 
the grammarian followed, with the ultimate aim 
of gaining distinction in the lecture room, and 
rhetoric. Nor were games and martial exercises 
forgotten, although he is described as of a fragile 
constitution. The long robe of childhood was 
exchanged for the toga virilis, the citizen's dress, 
at the age of fourteen or sixteen, with the de- 
posit of money in the temple of Juventas. Public 
speaking, the much prized forensic eloquence, 
was next studied. He had for preceptor the 
wise and polished Quintilian. He also cherished 

27 



A World's Shrine 



much esteem for another instructor in the phil- 
osopher Eucrates, found by Pliny in the depths 
of Syria, where he was serving as a soldier. 
Eucrates, a disciple of Plato, subtle in dispute, 
making a war on vice, inspired in discourse, 
reconciled Pliny to philosophy, and the just 
discernment of pleasure and duty. Pliny re- 
called the lessons of this sage of austere visage 
and long hair and beard all his life. 

The youth departed from his home in the 
suburb of Como to enter the world. His tutor, 
Aristones, had been zealous and prudent. In- 
structed in oratory, Pliny entered the arena 
modestly in a criminal case, as was the custom. 
Eloquence is composed of three elements, ac- 
cording to Quintilian, — to read, write, and 
speak well. Thus Pliny declaimed in public, 
wrote dialogues, poems, and pages of history. 
As a young man he composed little verses of 
society, in the fashion of the time, as a recreation 
from serious labours. Spurrina was to him an 
edifying example of well-regulated age, rising 
early to the routine of a day of gentle exercise, 

28 



The Country Gentleman 



study, the bath, playing a game of tennis, and 
fed at a frugal board spread with massive 
silver utensils, and the brass of Corinth. When 
Pliny appeared on the public piazza, in a white 
robe, may he not have saluted the lowest plebeian, 
soliciting his vote for office, and often buying it 
with money? The politeness of the Praetor, 
Mancinus, in explaining to the people in the 
Forum some pictures exhibited, for which they 
made him consul the next year, would have been 
a natural trait of amiability in Pliny the Younger. 
He seems to have been sent to Athens for further 
culture. His lines were cast in pleasant places 
throughout his career. He did not need to com- 
plain, with Martial, of being invited to sup with 
the rich Mancinus, when a sucking pig was 
divided among sixty hungry guests, while the 
host ate grapes, apples as sweet as honey, pome- 
granates of Carthage, and olives of Picenum. 

In public life the place in history of Pliny is at 
the base of the column of Trajan. Both gain by 
such propinquity, and their memory has been 
cherished by succeeding centuries; so long do 

29 



A World's Shrine 



the good deeds of men live after them. Trajan, 
born in Spain, has been considered the first pro- 
vincial to gain the rank of emperor. He was 
less exclusively Roman than his predecessors. 
He built monuments of his own greatness in all 
parts of the known universe. An arch of Trajan 
stands at Benevento, and another at Ancona. 
He constructed a bridge of twenty arches on the 
Rhine, and a rampart above the Danube. He 
aspired to becoming a ruler not only of the 
Romans, but of the entire human race. In his 
military career he defeated Decebalus, and made 
Dacia a Roman province, took Ctesiphon, the 
capital of Parthia, and descended the Tigris to 
the Persian Gulf One of the greatest and best 
of emperors, he is praised for his moderation, 
simplicity of living, and excellent judgment. 
He presided at the tribunal which condemned 
Saint Ignatius. Ampere compares Trajan to 
Washington, as a Roman general instead of a 
Virginia planter, yet both inspired by the same 
sentiment of duty in defending the frontiers of 
country against an enemy. Trajan, with his firm 

30 



The Country Gentleman 



mien, would have marched as far as India, if 
necessary, and Washington, the friend of peace, 
threatened by England during his presidency, 
prepared to hold head modestly with the foe. 

Pliny practised law at Rome, held public 
offices, and became Proconsul of Bithynia in 103. 
He wrote the famous letter to Trajan in which 
he bore testimony to the morality of the Chris- 
tians. Pliny consulted the emperor in all matters 
of difficulty, and even of the small interests of 
towns in Asia. The replies of Trajan were 
models of good sense and brevity, gravity, and 
the conciseness known as imperatoria breviiaSy 
whether a decision on the building of a new bath 
by the inhabitants of Prusium, or giving the citi- 
zens of Amasia permission to cover a stagnant 
stream. What was the actual opinion of tolerant 
master and minister of the sect of Christians? 
Pliny does not seem to have been especially in- 
terested in their tenets, although he was humane 
in disposition towards an inoffensive body. 
Trajan, with his principles of Roman distrust of 
individual liberty, independent associations, civil 

31 



A World's Shrine 



or religious, and the aim of centralising all gov- 
ernment, still manifested true clemency to the 
followers of Christ, and a wish to avoid perse- 
cuting them. The Middle Ages accorded his 
memory fresh fame. Pope Gregory the Great 
considered that the soul of such a good heathen 
emperor should be saved by the intercession of 
religion. Trajan was prayed for in Purgatory 
and redeemed. The doctors of divinity com- 
bated such remission of the damnation of a soul, 
but the saints have accepted the deliverance of 
Trajan. The Greek church has this phrase in its 
ritual: *' O God, pardon him as Thou hast par- 
doned Trajan by St. Gregory." Thomas Aquinas, 
as the Angelical Doctor, has sought to explain 
how, without heresy, this charitable miracle was 
accomplished. Dante places Trajan in Paradise. 
During a long and glorious reign the devotion of 
the people caused his portrait busts and statues, 
common-place, with a low forehead, and even 
lacking heroic or benevolent expression, to be 
multiplied. At his death these memorials were 
not destroyed. " More happy than Augustus or 

32 



The Country Gentleman 



better than Trajan " became a flattering formula 
of address to powerful sovereigns. Even more 
majestic is the suggestion that in Wallachia and 
other Danubian provinces, where this mighty- 
ruler planted the Roman eagle, previously cast 
down under Domitian, the souvenir of him has 
lingered with a mythological significance. The 
thunder is the voice of Trajan, and the Milky 
Way his high-road in the skies. Legend is here 
conquest and apotheosis. In the twelfth century 
the municipality of Rome took measures to pro- 
tect the edifices erected by Pliny's master, be- 
cause of the virtues of an emperor who merited 
immortality. 

Mellow sunshine of all the passing years traces 
the marvellous story unrolled on Trajan's column 
in the Eternal City. This monument, once 
crowned by his statue, holding a gilded ball, 
comprises his history, pedestal of his power, tro- 
phy of his glory, and guardian of his ashes. The 
bas-reliefs are the recital of an ancient volumefty 
the memoirs, carved in stone, of his campaigns, 
more enduring than the writings of Marius Max- 
3 ZZ 



A World's Shrine 



imius, Fabius Marcellinus, Aurelius Verus, Sta- 
tius Valens, or the Greek poems of Canlnius 
Rufus. The homage of a conquered world may 
be traced, mounting the shaft to the feet of the 
emperor, Roman soldiers crossing rivers, Dacian 
ambassadors presenting tribute, the building of 
camps, and the siege of towns. 

Pliny's place was at the base of the column, 
writing the panegyric of his patron, who sought 
to occupy himself with the well-being of all 
classes in his vast domain. The praises of Pliny 
were couched in the most flowery language, and 
extol Trajan for affording a spectacle " not des- 
tined to soften the soul, but calculated to stimu- 
late courage, to familiarise with noble wounds, 
and to inspire us with scorn of death." He was 
in himself rather a conscientious minister than 
one born to govern. 

Pliny enters on the most interesting phase of 
his career to posterity when he returned from 
foreign service, and became the country gentle- 
man. He liked to escape from town life to the 
rural home, in common with his contemporaries, 

34 



The Country Gentleman 



and mankind in general. He enjoyed a sub- 
urban retreat in a pavilion at Tusculum, another 
on the Tiber, and a property facing the Tyr- 
rhenian Sea, the Laurentine villa described by 
him, with the air as pure as that of Attica, amidst 
the thyme of Hymettus, terraces, galleries, and 
circular chambers, screened from the north by 
gardens and pine-woods. He sought his native 
Como, where he had several mansions. The site 
of the charming spot called Comedy, situated on 
the brink of the water, and of another abode 
on a height known as Tragedy, have become 
traditional. 

Behold our amiable host, " le plus doiix des 
homines!' quitting his house on the Esquiline to 
linger in the pure air of the Apennines, or push 
on to Como. No direct train of the day or night 
express swept him over plain and through tun- 
nelled hillside. He departed from Rome by one 
of her four roads which traversed the land like 
arteries, probably the great northern route, the 
Flaminian Way, which led from Porta Salara by 
Soracte and the Sabine hills, northeast to An- 

35 



A World's Shrine 



cona, Rimini, thence known as Via Emilia, to 
Piacenza, Milan, and Cisalpine Gaul. " All roads 
lead to Rome." 

Pliny does not seem to have built roads, like 
the Censor, C. Flaminius, but availed himself of 
Roman munificence, public and private. The 
Curator often spent large sums out of private 
fortunes on repairs. Slaves and convicts laboured 
to drain off the rain, and trace the route with ref- 
erence to the nature of the rocky statumeUy a 
lower bed of rough stones being omitted if the 
rock itself could be carefully levelled to receive 
rudus and neucleiis, on which the lava pavement 
was bedded. In marshy districts the statumen 
was replaced by wooden piles, and frequently in 
valleys a viaduct of masonry was substituted. 
Ditches (fossce) were dug on either side, and 
milestones, milliaria, erected. Special rates 
for repairs were paid. In Rome each house 
was taxed for the pavement opposite. Julius 
Caesar was Curator of the Via Appia, and Cornu- 
tius Tertullus of Via Emilia. Ramuli were small 
cross-roads leading from main thoroughfares, 

36 



The Country Gentleman 



and the vide vicinales were sustained as parish 
dues under local officers, magistri pagorum. 
The Flaminian coin of Augustus represents him 
crowned by Victory, in a biga drawn by ele- 
phants, and on the reverse the Via Flaminia car- 
ried on arches. 

Oh, that much vaunted civilisation would more 
frequently imitate the Roman, and build roads 
for fellow-man out of a portion of the wealth lav- 
ished on charities, college libraries, and munici- 
pal art museums ! Consider the satisfaction of 
giving a bridge to a whole countryside. Even in 
a spiritualised sense it were better to remove the 
stone from the path, like the old men and women 
of certain Oriental countries, for those who come 
after, than to place more obstructions of jealousy 
and envy in the way. 

Pliny must have discarded his toga for the 
pcenula, and assumed travelling-shoes, then set 
forth in the lectica, litter, through crowded 
streets, exchanged for horses, mules, or conven- 
ient vehicles of the cabriolet sort, with leather 
hood and curtains, accompanied by Numidian 

37 



A World's Shrine 



outriders, while the attendants followed in the 
petorrita. Such journeying brought him to the 
brink of the crystal cup of Lake, where he is still 
the pervading presence. He was admirable in all 
walks of life, a just patron, a senator, an avocat, 
cherishing a love of glory and renown, and hold- 
ing to all those ancient institutions which endeared 
him to Trajan. Returning to Como he established 
schools, with a stipend of thirty thousand ses- 
terces annually for the benefit of the town. He 
further endowed orphans of impoverished families. 
Pliny as the letter-writer is still quoted. He left 
ten volumes of correspondence esteemed the 
most precious epistolary relics of Roman life, 
after those of Cicero. A telegraphic century 
may well pause in a summer hour on Como, and 
reflect on the letter-writing of past generations. 
Will the art soon be lost? Pliny is an august 
and distant shade, as ancestor, with Cicero, of all 
that graceful and sprightly company, the Italians 
who cultivated the gift in Latin, such as Galileo 
and Bentivoglio, Saint-Evremond, Voltaire, or 
Madame de Sevigne, in happiest inspiration, 

38 



The Country Gentleman 



Pope, Gray, Cowper, and Byron. In Roman 
literature, descriptive, biographical, and in anec- 
dote men wrote their own lives. Pliny's corre- 
spondence is a full portraiture of the Roman 
gentleman, whether with Silius Italicus, the 
wealthy versifier, Passienus Paulus, Caninius 
Rufus, Pomponius Saturninus, or other friends. 
His epistles were polished with the care of a fine 
writer, who combines grace and lightness with 
seriousness. His dissertation on style in the 
twentieth letter might be modern : 

*' Certainly conciseness is not to be neglected when 
language permits ; but I also maintain that it is often 
treason not to say all possible, to half trace that which 
should be stamped on souls. Do not scorn the 
resources of words ; they add to the force and lustre of 
thought. Our passion penetrates the nature of our 
audience as iron enters a solid body : a single blow is 
insufficient, it must be redoubled. To Lysias, the king 
of conciseness, to the old Cato, who would have 
blushed to utter a superfluous word, I oppose the 
abundance of Eschinus, of Demosthenes, of Cicero. 
Cicero said that in his opinion the finest harangue was 
the longest." 

39 



A World's Shrine 



This excellent Pliny, benevolent, peaceable, 
polite to all, honest, and actuated by a tolerant wis- 
dom of demeanour to his fellow-creatures, wrote 
on all topics of the day. Now fancy led him to 
describe the emotions of a sentimental dolphin 
on the coast of Africa, and again he invented a 
ghost story of a haunted house at Athens. One 
element of his correspondence concerned the 
rights of pillaged provinces, or the repairs of 
the Emilian road. He lamented the death, at 
the age of fourteen years, of the amiable daughter 
of Fundanius. He gave items of life in the 
capital, weddings, betrothals, a testament to 
sign, the son of a friend assuming the virile robe. 
He invited Clarus to supper, promising the guest 
a salad, three snails, a cake, two eggs, wine 
mingled with snow, olives of Andalusia, gourds, 
and shalots, while a comedian, or a flute-player 
should enliven the dessert. But Clarus failed to 
appear. The feast spread by Pythagoras was 
more to his taste than eggs, lettuce, snails, and 
shalots. Fie, then ! He sought a richer mansion, 
more succulent temptations, the finest oysters of 

40 



The Country Gentleman 



the Lucrine Lake, exquisite viands, and wines 
perfumed with a hundred leaves, with Spanish 
dancers as fresh and young as a garland of roses, 
to charm the revellers. In married life Pliny's 
wife, the lady Calphurnia, a sympathetic com- 
panion of mind and heart, often held one of his 
works in her hand, a circumstance on which he 
dwelt with much complacency. The dutiful 
spouse listened behind a curtain when he read in 
public. Pliny wept for the death of faithful 
slaves, rejoicing that many had first received 
their freedom. He wore mourning for his 
friends. 

Como was the shrine of his heart. He was 
born there, and, become rich and powerful, he 
wished to live on the borders of Larius. He was 
familiar with the trees, the cedars, the beech, the 
alders, myrtles, and laurels. He wrote to Catinius : 
"Are you fond of study, fishing, or hunting? 
You can enjoy all these occupations in our man- 
sion on the Lake of Como. The lake furnishes 
the fish, the woods yield stags and deer, while the 
admirable tranquillity of this delightful retreat 

41 



A World's Shrine 



invites the mind to study, and the calm leisure for 
which I sigh as a sick person for fresh wine, the 
tepid bath, or healing waters." 

Pliny the Youngest, in the twentieth century ten- 
ants his villa on Como. He is a cosmopolitan of 
good family, gently reared, and carefully educated. 
Possibly, like his earlier prototype, he resembles 
Monsieur Banal ; being routine fused with ego- 
tism, mediocre, with no rash enthusiasm to dis- 
arrange the order of things. Is there anything 
new under the sun? Pliny the Younger lamented 
the degeneracy of the times thus : '* Senators and 
judges come to be chosen for their income, and 
magistrates and generals regard money as their 
chief title to distinction. . . . All the noble pur- 
suits of life and liberal arts have fallen to the 
ground, and servitude alone is profitable. In 
various ways all men care for money, and for 
money alone." 

Would it be possible for the modern gentleman 
of birth and fortune to weigh the political phases 
of his day in a more pessimistic spirit? 

The suburban residence, dedicated to a lux- 

42 



The Country Gentleman 



urious sojourn of a few months, is completely 
appointed in a sumptuous manner, according to 
the requirements of the master. The earlier 
Pliny might have smiled at the menage, since 
royal palaces are scarcely furnished with the staff 
of menials essential to his comfort in the slaves of 
town and country houses. Pliny the Youngest 
may have his confidential and discreet man ser- 
vant, butler, chef^ with attendant myrmidons and 
maids. The other Pliny had natives of Asia, 
Syrians, Lydians, Carians, Mysians, Italians, 
Cappadocians, Celts, or Germans skilled in agri- 
culture in his retinue, in lieu of deft footmen, 
grooms, gardeners, or valets. A sandal boy, 
(^calceator) put on the master's shoes, and ran 
errands, page fashion ; the vestiplicus was a folder 
of clothes ; librarians, scribes, readers, domestic 
nurses, and doctors, a small army of dusters and 
sweepers appertained to the household. A 
Corinthus cared for the Corinthian vases, while 
the superintendent villicus, bailifT, directed game- 
keepers, vine-dressers, sowers, reapers, and 
tenders of horses, mules, oxen, and sheep. 

43 



A World's Shrine 



Probably in all the guile of the servants' hall the 
average domestic is not more subtly versed than 
was the slave of antiquity. These were taught to 
carve, as an accomplishment, to the sound of 
music, to cool apartments with fans, move about 
among guests, girt with napkins and towels, with 
bowls of water for finger dipping, carry wine-cups 
crowned with flowers, and serve the meats of 
those banquets where the shield of Minerva was 
heaped with fish, game, and fruits. In matters 
gastronomical, even if deeply versed in all the 
shades of culinary science, the Pliny of our time 
could scarcely teach that Roman gentleman much. 
Doubtless the classical cook was skilled in imita- 
ting the flavours of rare fish in coarse ones, as 
well as the artist of the kitchen of Louis XIV., or 
to impart a semblance of fowls and game on fast 
days to the maigre of vegetables. The profound 
system of preparing a meal for the hunger of 
youth, for maturity when appetite comes in eat- 
ing, and a surprise at the end of a repast for 
jaded palates may be very old. The sweet of 
milk and sugar, the saltness of the marine wave, 

44 



The Country Gentleman 



the acid of citron, the bitter of chicory, the 
sharpness of spices, and the astringency of 
pomegranates, as aiding these results, were un- 
derstood at a date when VitelHus sent to Syria 
for the pistachio nut to add to his condiments 
of oil, vinegar, aromatic plants, mint, saffron, 
or aniseed. 

Is the youngest epicure a connoisseur of wine, 
fish, fruit? Pliny the Younger tasted thirty 
varieties of pears, of which the best were the 
Crustumian, the Falernian, Syrian, and the 
voleinay the first pear in size. Plums of Damas- 
cus and Armeniaca, cherries, quinces, figs, med- 
lars, mulberries, almonds, and chestnuts fell to 
his portion. He must have been a gourmet in 
fish, from the gustatus (whet) of salted sHces, 
served with eggs, rue, and cybium, the sauce- 
piquante of anchovy, the garum, the edible 
purple mussel, to the mullet, the little gobius of 
Venice, the rhombus (turbot) of Ravenna, the 
sea-eel {jnurdend) of Sicily and Tartessus, had- 
dock, conger, and lupus, sea-wolf. He was an 
authority on wine, whether pure Falernian or 

45 



A World's Shrine 



the beverages mingled with perfumed oils, aloes 
and myrrh. 

Pliny the Youngest is usually contented with 
his bath-room, if a tiny chamber, vaulted, tesse- 
lated with marble, furnished with douche, and a 
coffin-shaped tub, like the little temple of a 
nymph in the Pitti Palace at Florence, with de- 
lightfully refreshing toilet waters and soaps, 
fresh linen, brushes and sponges additional. 

The bath signified to Pliny the Younger the 
frigidarium, either public or private, the swim- 
ming-tanks of the itaiatoriumy the caldarmnty 
painted ceilings, mosaic pavements, columns, 
bronze seats, glass utensils, wash-balls, fragrant 
oils of crocus and saffron, pomades, the nardinium 
made of the blossoms of the nard grass of Arabia 
and India, and the odoriferous powders, diapas- 
mata of the Greek gymnasium, and thermcB. 
Hygienic exercises were not neglected in those 
earlier times. Old and young played ball, the 
follis (big), and the pila (small), running and 
leaping in games, the indolent and decrepit rid- 
ing on horseback, or being borne out in litters. 

46 



The Country Gentleman 



Our patricians have been wont to attire them- 
selves in soft raiment. PHny the Younger wore 
garments of wool {lanea), silk {sericd), linen and 
cotton {hoinbycind). Pliny the Youngest may 
smile superciliously as he contemplates his neat 
gaiters, walking, golf, and tennis shoes in com- 
parison with the foot-gear of his predecessor, the 
sandals, attached with thongs to instep and ankle. 
Likewise it must be confessed that the ideas of 
Pliny the Younger as to time-keeping, the sun- 
dial as an obelisk, or a hollow hemisphere, with 
the hours divided by eleven lines, and cloudy 
weather marked by such early hour-glasses as 
water-clocks, the clepsydra did not equal the 
system of noting the fleeting moments of his suc- 
cessor, from the musical chime of clocks, French, 
Swiss, and of Black Forest make, to the stem- 
winding chronometer of a vest pocket, or Mrs. 
Pliny's bracelet. 

The Como Villa is illuminated by electricity. 
Pale moons and suns gleam amidst the dusky 
shrubbery of garden alleys, and flowers of silk 
and tinted crystal screen the lamps of alcove and 

47 



A World's Shrine 



corridor. The ancient Roman had the hicerna^ 
oil fed, in graceful designs of terra-cotta and 
bronze, decorated with garlands, masks, dolphins, 
peacocks, or apes, swung on chains ; slips of pine 
for torches; tallow and wax candles {sebacece), 
with wicks of rush, the indigenous papyrus, 
hemp {cannabis)^ and the leaves of verbascurn ; 
lanterns framed in metal, glass, or thin plates of 
horn ; candelabra, and the lampadariay the 
column to hold lamp or torch. 

In the value attached to his library the ancient 
yielded nothing to posterity. Do the shelves of 
the Como mansion boast the latest editions of 
Quaritch, the Kelmscott Press, editions de luxe 
of Paris and Berlin, as a resource of leisure? 
Pliny the Younger, in his prime, treasured in re- 
ceptacles of precious wood and metal boxes the 
rolls wrapped in parchment, dyed purple and 
yellow, and held by a stick with a gilded knob, 
the title and index attached, tinted with red 
coccumy while a portrait of the author adorned 
the front page, and the writing on leather and 
linen in ink of Chinese pigment, the juice of 

48 



The Country Gentleman 



sepia, and of the flax stalk. Another form of 
book was the strips of Egyptian papyrus glued 
together. Eight qualities of paper are mentioned 
by him, the Augustana, Claudiana, and Liviana 
as superior, charta dentata, with the surface 
polished by the tooth of some animal to produce 
a glossy face for the pen, like a '* hot pressed " 
sheet, the charta bibula, transparent and spongy, 
and inferior sorts for wrappings and merchandise. 
Educated slaves cared for the volumen^ smoothed 
with pumice stone the libelltis, a little book con- 
sisting of a few leaves of parchment bound to- 
gether, or the liber compiled of the rind of the 
Egyptian papyrus. In addition they transcribed 
and bound books, were in charge of the master's 
correspondence, and compiled the index. Ink- 
stands were wrought of silver and bronze, and the 
reed, calamiiSy the usual pen. 

Pliny's picture gallery was arranged with refer- 
ence to a northern light, in order that the sun 
might not injure the tabulcE, wooden panels 
inserted in the wall, or hung against it. 

He was of a delicate constitution, and may 
4 49 



A World's Shrine 



not the pure air of Como be an attraction to the 
modern sojourner in a mild climate, as well? 
The proverb says that every man is his own 
doctor at the age of forty, or a fool. Distrust 
of the learned fraternity was early manifested at 
Rome. The first Greek physician Archagathus, 
practised in the Eternal City A. D. 535, and 
inspired doubt of the science altogether. Cato 
warned his son against the pursuit of medicine, 
and all doctors. Pliny the Youngest may keep 
his own pharmacopoeia of compressed tabloids or 
homeopathic phials, and resort to certain Spas 
in their season, while lacking the robust fibre of 
a horse-racing, Alpine-climbing, polo, cricket, 
and foot-ball-playing era. 

The latter receives daily, almost hourly, his 
harvest of letters, post-cards, advertisements, 
pamphlets, and late editions of journalistic cable 
news from the four quarters of the globe. He 
would be dull otherwise, and defrauded of his 
rights as a citizen of the world. 

Lo ! Pliny the Younger did not fare badly in 
these matters on Como. The ancients had no 

50 



The Country Gentleman 



newspapers, but there was a public dissemination 
of news on the piazza, in the forum, at the baths, 
at clubs, by means of the barber, the doctor, and 
the scribe. As another compensation for the 
daily journals, copies of the acta diurna publica, 
or urbana, were despatched to all parts of the 
Roman Empire. These acts, or chronicles, were 
begun in Cesar's first consulate, or not much 
earlier. They comprised important events, new 
laws, annuals, maxims of other times, decrees of 
the Senate, edicts of the magistrates, fires, sacri- 
fices, the announcement of festivals, processions, 
births, marriages, divorces, and deaths. The 
compilations were made by the actiiariiy ap- 
pointed under the director of the tabulcB publicce. 
Bulletins were written down, tables exposed for 
any one to read and copy. Scribes copied out 
these acta for pay, while others made extracts 
for subscribers sent to distant provinces. 

Does the youngest Pliny dally with the finest 
French and English stationary in his correspond- 
ence? His predecessor was also remembered by 
the post; only, his letters were written on thin 

51 



A World's Shrine 



tablets of wood, tabellce^ covered with wax, or 
on parchment, bound together with linen threads, 
or sealed with a ring, brought by couriers and 
messengers. Also, his pocket note-book consists 
of small tablets, with ornamented covers of gold, 
silver, or ivory, and a stilus, pointed at one end, 
and blunted for erasure at the other. 

The youngest Pliny is the finest fruit of civil- 
isation, but he can scarcely follow a more noble 
model than the ancient Roman gentleman. Con- 
sider the delicacy of consideration in his gift to 
Quintilian of a dowry for his daughter, when 
the philosopher had lost his son. The mode of 
bestowing a benefit is as much as the donation. 

" No one knows better than I, my venerated master, 
the moderation of your wishes ; I know, also, that your 
daughter has been reared in all the virtues worthy of 
the child of Quintilian and the granddaughter of 
Tutilius ; but whom to-day you give to Nonius Celer, 
a very worthy man, honoured with important duties. 
Our child should be surrounded by those belongings 
suited to the rank of her husband; this distinction 
without augmenting our dignity gives us independent 

52 



The Country Gentleman 



ease. You are rich in gifts of the soul, and other 
fortune you have always disdained; suffer therefore, 
my second father, in the name of the many benefac- 
tions you have heaped upon me that I give to your 
dear daughter fifty thousand sesterces. I count on the 
modesty of the little present to obtain the permission 
which I solicit of your indulgence." 

Consider the munificence and Christian kind- 
ness of his last testament. He did not possess 
the wealth of a Marcus Crassus, yet he paid 
the debts of a friend, gave portions to faithful 
servants, bestowed three hundred thousand ses- 
terces on Romanzio Fermo, the land to the old 
nurse, and public benefits to Como. He was 
the friend of Tacitus, and these two upheld the 
antique creed that honour and probity still re- 
mained among men. 

Pliny the Younger, beside the portal of the 
Como cathedral, is ever the host welcoming all 
comers to this summer Eden. 



53 



IV 

A VANISHED HOUSE 

TWILIGHT on Como is the calm 
transition hour when the rich colour- 
ing of day, flaming in amber, copper, 
and golden hues on the peaks, has 
been quenched in soft, pearly-grey tones about 
the base of cliffs, where a silvery veil already 
gathers with the mists of night. Stars begin to 
sparkle in the vault of sky above the lake, and a 
ray of light trembles here and there on the sur- 
face of the water. 

The Berlin professor wanders apart, responsive 
to the spell of the spot. He is a quiet man, 
large, bearded, and spectacled, affable in manner 
to all in the casual intercourse of travelling ac- 
quaintance, Reisebekamtschafty and fond of talk- 
ing with the natives of a country in out-of~the- 

54 



A Vanished House 



way nooks. All day he has walked and botanised 
with his wife, a buxom dame of the Frau Buch- 
holtz type, and smiling daughters. Now he 
enters the boat of Memory, and steers his way 
on the unruffled lake to a shrine of fancy. Al- 
ready the fishermen have prepared their nets in 
the depths, guarded by an empty boat, with a 
bell adjusted to ring with every motion caused 
by a passing ripple. The bell guides his course. 
That fitful cadence, the merest tinkle of a prosaic 
warning to respect the rights of a humble neigh- 
bour, is symbolical to the savant, calling to him 
from the immeasurable distance of the Past. 

Pliny the Younger built his Villa of Comedy 
on the brink of the tide. Tradition places the 
site at Euripus, the lower portion of the Trem- 
ezzino, beyond the promontory of Balbinello, or 
Lavedo, where wall and column have settled 
beneath the current. The vague outline of pos- 
sibility in skirting curves of the shore only en- 
hances the charm of endless speculation as to 
the actual site of the famous residence. All the 
witchery appertaining to submerged towns, and 

55 



A World's Shrine 



church towers that still chime their own knell in 
ghostly fashion, whether of sea-coast, or inland 
rivers, belongs to Pliny's vanished home. When 
the level of the Lake Celano, the ancient Fucinus, 
was unusually low, in 1752, a city was uncovered, 
and the statues of Claudius and Agrippina re- 
vealed. Thus may Pliny's Villa rise once more 
as perfect as the fabric of a vision. 

The Berlin professor is not solitary in the craft 
of memory. A spectral crew of kindred souls 
have already boarded his skiff in sympathetic 
unison. Salmasius, Casaubon, Lipsius, and 
Becker share his reveries in this branch of ar- 
chaeology, the study of antiquities. 

" Take my glass of intuitive intelligence and 
spy at the boundaries of Pliny's mansion," quoth 
Becker. 

" Strive to live over again Pliny's daily life 
here," echoes Lipsius. 

"Yes; decide for yourself, if this delicious 
retreat served Pliny to attain the felicity of well- 
being of Horace in realising all his dreams: 
honourable leisure, a modest fortune equal to 

56 



A Vanished House 



his desires, and a corner of the earth between 
the shadow and the silence," muses Salmasius. 

The Bedin professor needs no second bidding. 
In the twilight the sheet of water all about his 
bark is a magic mirror. He longs to plunge 
beneath that crystal barrier, and roam through 
the precincts of Pliny's Villa of Comedy, described 
by the owner as having a court shaded by plane 
trees, a gallery flanking spaces of green turf, fields 
stretching in the rear, apple trees, shaded alleys, 
and arbours of acanthus, trellised and supported 
on columns. The interior offered a cool retreat 
for sultry hours. The walls were painted to rep- 
resent birds, flowers, and foliage, as at Pompeii 
and Herculaneum. A cabinet of study was fin- 
ished in marble, while statues and pictures adorned 
the other apartments. Pliny reclined in his gar- 
dens, and listened to the melody of flowing waters. 
He could cast a line into the wave, and fish, since 
the finest eels swam up to the very door. His 
note-book was ever open to jot down his thoughts, 
possibly in the short-hand method which he 
states came into use under Caesar's rule. Also 

57 



A World's Shrine 



he gave his opinions more ample scope in dicta- 
tion to Notarius, the slave at his elbow. His 
letter to Tacitus, descriptive of boar-hunting, has 
been praised for grace : 

"The snares were set, and with my tablets in my 
hand, I awaited the game in order not to return to 
the house empty. All succeeded with me ; I filled my 
tablets, and behold me sure that Minerva, as well as 
Diana, is pleased with our hills. Try this sport : it is 
admirable. How much exhilaration is excited by the 
hunt. At the same time how the calm of the forests, 
the silence of the woods, and solitude are favourable to 
meditation." 

His invitation to Rufus is no less charming: 

" Leave mean and sordid cares to others, and de- 
vote yourself to study in a profound and rich seclusion. 
Make this your affair, your leisure, your work and rest, 
your thought in wakeful hours, and the motive of your 
dreams." 

Doubtless Pliny entertained society here with 
nice tact. If he had a Catius, who placed the 
culinary art at the summit of human felicity, for 
guest, he prepared a kid of the vineyards, the 

58 



A Vanished House 



Umbrian boar fed on red acorns, mushrooms of 
the meadows, cray-fish of Misenium, scallops of 
Tarentum, or the Melian crane. The jaded wine- 
bibber was tempted with roasted shrimps, Afri- 
can cockles, and the Venusian grape preserved. 

Did the host ever nod drowsily in the Villa of 
Comedy, with the very foundations gently lapped 
by the tide? Pliny the Elder scorned indulgence 
in sleep as a sheer waste of time. One must sus- 
pect the nephew of taking an occasional siesta, 
soothed by his own poetical fancies in such a re- 
treat as grottoes shaded by a drapery of fern-like 
vines and plants, or subterranean chambers hol- 
lowed out of the cliffs and rocks, adapted to 
repose. Even the terrible fever of insomnia of a 
Maecenas, lulled in vain by soft music and falling 
waters, might have yielded to oblivion here. 

Verily the ancient Roman studied the means of 
enjoying refreshing coolness on his country 
property. He paid dearly for such luxury on 
occasion. There was rheumatism in those classi- 
cal days, the " thorn in the flesh " from which 
Renan believed the Apostle Paul suffered. The 

59 



A World's Shrine 



Roman seems to have boiled himself in all the 
hot springs and mud baths of Europe from Aix- 
la-Chapelle, Spa, Wiesbaden, Teplitz, or Ragatz 
to Acqui and Ischia. 

In the twilight the Berlin professor has a vision 
of the submerged mansion. He discerns the act- 
ual shimmer of Hymettan and Pentelic marbles 
beneath the ripples; the tawny lustre of the 
Numidian yellow antique; Carian veins of dull 
green and brown in dislodged cornice and broken 
pillar; Greek red, Laconian black, or the frag- 
ments of the Lupis Ophites of Thebes, resem- 
bling the green of serpent scales heaped about 
the threshold where Pliny the Younger received 
his friends. His voice is an echo : *' Be welcome, 
all, at this last hour of the day, when the sun 
slopes down the column of the Forum at Rome." 

The bell in the fisherman's boat, with the nets 
attached, rocked by the tide, vibrates softly like 
the echo of vanished years. 



60 



V 

PLINY'S ROSE 

THE tourist steps ashore from a passing 
steamer at Bellaggio on the summer 
morning, skirts the arcades of the 
picturesque town, and enters the 
narrow gate leading by a winding and steep path 
to the Villa Serbelloni on the height above. 

He is the type of his class, — a small, supple, 
sun-burned man, clad in grey tweed, with dusty 
shoes, and bag and field-glass strapped over his 
shoulder. Reticent of speech, and wary as to 
companionship, he pursues his way steadily and 
conscientiously. He is ubiquitous. He may be 
met on the margin of the Rhone glacier, ice-axe 
in hand, or clambering up the chimney of a dolo- 
mite with equal probability, and lifts his hat to a 
fellow-traveller in either locality, as on the quay 
of Bellaggio, with his habitual, slight, dry smile. 

6i 



A World's Shrine 



The Villa Serbelloni is a world's rendezvous as 
well as the terraces of Monte Carlo. Least like 
the modern hotel of all caravansaries, one never 
knows what eminent personage, diplomatic, 
princely, or ecclesiastical will emerge from a 
long casement, shaded by awning or shutter, or 
be encountered in the rambling corridors of the 
old mansion. Matchless in situation is this shrine 
of beauty, with blooming terraces sloping down 
to Lake Lecco on one side, the tranquil expanse 
of Como on the other, and facing all that wonder- 
land of mountain amphitheatre, capped by the 
snowy pinnacles of the Spliigen range, and col- 
oured by the richest hues of Nature's palette in 
the changes from light to shade of the passing 
hours. 

If the tourist is inspired by curiosity in his 
fellow-creatures, he pauses, seats himself at a 
table, and orders wine and a seltzer siphon of a 
nimble menial. He scans the dark individual 
escorted by two companions of respectful mien, 
who is possibly a prime minister in search of re- 
pose. The lady with red hair and a hard-favoured 

62 



Pliny's Rose 

physiognomy is, at the very least, a grand- 
duchess, travelling incognita. He need experi- 
ence no surprise if a Siamese ambassador, in 
national costume, should stroll through the por- 
tico, and an Indian prince pause to light his 
cheroot at his elbow. Such great folk like the 
masquerade of losing personality in the crowd of 
common mortals, even as the unfortunate Em- 
press of Austria is reputed to have bought the 
tickets on the steamers of Switzerland. 

The probability is that the tourist shuns such 
company, and wanders through the gardens at 
will, pausing entranced at opportune points to 
enjoy the vistas chosen by modern taste and 
traditional usage. The familiar combination of 
natural loveliness and the artificial is more appar- 
ent on the promontory than elsewhere. The 
tourist has reached the goal of many an air-castle 
in journeys traced on the map of his guide-book, 
but all the drop-curtains and stage scenery of 
the theatres seem to have been borrowed from 
the spot in tinsel and pasteboard. The scene is 
a stage. Who knows if the great lady, with the 

63 



A World's Shrine 



auburn locks, poses, and is writing a diary of travel 
to be published for the edification and delight of 
her subjects? May not the prime minister be re- 
hearsing an address to a discontented province, as 
he paces the path? The Siamese should advance 
to the footlights, and sing a comic song from an 
operetta. 

The hot sun already smites the glowing rock 
of promontory. The flowers droop parched and 
languid, the zones of aloe, lemon, and chrysan- 
themum of path and parterre. The tourist finds 
a nook still fragrant and dewy with the fresh- 
ness of early morning on the brink of the 
crag, with the meeting-place of the waters far 
below. He throws himself down on the bank, 
presses his hat over his eyes, and clasps his hands 
above his head with a sigh of contentment. A 
glimpse of sky of the purest sapphire hue is visi- 
ble through the delicate meshes of foliage of ad- 
jacent trees, and a mist of blue lake occasionally 
unfolds, when the branches sway in the breeze. 
His thoughts stray idly to the warfare waged here 
in the middle ages, when some valiant Baron for- 

64 



Pliny's Rose 

tified the tongue of land as a strategic point of 
vantage against the raids of pirates'and marauders, 
the bands of armed men of the fourteenth cen- 
tury belonging to the clans from the side of Me- 
naggio or Varenna. He might spin averse in his 
own language on the cruel dame with troublesome 
lovers, who had them flung over this brink. 

He has entered the domain of the rose, and 
other impressions fade as his gaze rests on the 
flower. Elsewhere the gardener has devised 
every artifice of bower, trellis, and parterre for 
the annuals, and perennials, the begonias, gladio- 
lus, irides, poppies, spirae, cystus, or carnations, 
but the rose reigns in this nook. The rose be- 
longed to the Roman garden, laid out in stifl", 
geometrical forms, with the shrubbery clipped in 
the semblance of ships, urns, and such animals 
as bears holding a snake in the mouth, arbours, 
covered paths, and spaces in the borders for 
flowers, the Violaria and Rosaria of somewhat 
sparse adornment. 

*' Pliny's little rose of Como," muses the tourist 
in recognition. 

S 65 



A World's Shrine 



He is a dreamer on this spot. Who is not? 
The perfume of the rose permeates all his senses, 
a soft medium of colour, creamy and pink, envel- 
opes the dell in a warm atmosphere. 

The promontory of Bellaggio is supposed to 
have been the site of Pliny's Villa of Tragedy. 
On such a height were constructed pavilion, 
portico, gallery, the hot and cold bath, the broad 
alley of the Hippodrome for exercise, the calor- 
ifere hidden in the walls to temper the first chill 
of winter. From the portals of Tragedy Pliny 
gazed on the sparkling waters, and the boats of the 
fishermen with sails spread, shining in the warm 
sunshine. All about him were those elements of 
life dear to the country gentleman. He might 
cultivate paternal lands with his own oxen, watch 
the shearing of sheep, prune vines, graft pears, 
and gather grapes. His garners were enriched 
with olives and grain. The elm-tree was clothed 
with vines, and the oak yielded abundant acorns 
for the cattle. The verdant gloom of thickly 
mantling ivy shielded the ledges where the nar- 
cissus was steeped in dew, the golden crocus 

66 




o 
o 
<: 

w 



Pliny's Rose 

awoke with the spring, and the lily rose stiffly on 
its green stalk, with alabaster cup permeated by a 
tremulous light, and yellow corolla hidden deep 
in the exquisite chalice. Topiarius, the gardener, 
planted laurel, taxus, cyprus, myrtle, rosemary, 
arches of evergreen, and margins of bearsfoot. 

Estimating him by other traits of character the 
inference is clear that the mild and benevolent 
Pliny was kind to animals, and cherished such 
pets in this ideal retreat as monkeys, magpies, 
harmless snakes, ichneumons, and cats. We 
might almost infer that he was capable of becom- 
ing one of those ancients inclined to refrain from 
slaying beast, bird, or fish, as early vegetarians, 
and precursors of the advocates of suppression 
of cruelty. 

Did night bring to the pillow of Pliny on the 
height the sound sleep so highly prized by the 
Roman? Calm yet sleepless he may have sought 
for new methods of enlightenment for his con- 
temporaries as to many mysteries hidden from 
view, like Lucretius, until the dawn broke, and 
he went forth to inhale the fresh air from the hills 

67 



A World's Shrine 



beyond Lecco. Time swayed his sceptre over 
the Villa of Tragedy. One marvels as to the 
methods adopted of noting the passing hours. 
At least Pliny, reared by his worthy uncle, did 
not seek to kill time. Rather would he grasp 
the mysterious power, without objective existence, 
by the wings as it rushed past. The early 
Phoenician did not require to warn the Plinys 
that time is precious ; time is gold-dust, elephant's- 
teeth, and ostrich-plumes. Life is short. 

The flowers possibly served as a clock on the 
heights to Pliny the Younger. Kindred blossoms 
did the work of four-o'clock, the portulaca of 
noon, the niotago of five, the geranium of six, 
and the evening primrose, cacti, moon-flower, 
chicory, sow-thistle, or dandelion. The rose 
grew here then, and greeted Pliny when he 
sallied forth to enjoy his domain. Campanian 
and Prsenestine, earliest and latest in bloom, 
cousin of the winter bud of the mountain slopes 
about Lugano, and equally related to the famous 
flowers of Paestum, the harvest brought to Rome 
from Egypt in cold weather, Milesian, damask, 

68 



Pliny's Rose 

rosa lutea, or centifolia, the rose is still sovereign, 
and suffers no change of fashion, like the abashed 
fuchsia, obliged to trail lovely sprays in neglected 
spots. Even now the gardener, Topiarius, when 
weary of fresh experiments in grafting, roots, and 
seed sowing, of crotons or orchids, to produce ec- 
centric result of combination, turns to the rose to 
enrich in tints and fragrance. Once rose oil and 
rose ointment were used as medicaments here, as 
well as adopted in Roman cookery, the Persians 
and Arabs having taught Europe to distil flowers. 

Hot sunshine encroaches on cool shadows. 
The echo of Pliny's words recurs to somnolent 
idleness : 

*' It is noon. At Rome the sun is watched by 
the accensus of the consuls between the old 
Rostra and the Graecostasis." 

The tourist consults his watch, gazes down 
through the network of foliage at the lake and the 
boats with sails set, and returns to the prosaic 
world once more. 

Pleasure is the flower that fades ; remembrance 
is the lasting perfume. 

69 



VI 

AT THE SPRING 

ON a summer afternoon the bark of 
Memory was freighted with a gay 
company intent on visiting the gush- 
ing source of the spring rendered 
celebrated by PHny the Younger, and which still 
flows and ebbs through all the years. The light 
craft carried beauty, fashion, art, and learning 
over the lake, with laughter, jest, and song to the 
gates of the Villa Pliniana, the gloomy palace at 
Palanzo at the base of the cliff. Here Pliny 
invoked Sylvanus, reposed on the grass beside 
the fountain, and listened to the birds. He 
judged that a portion of ground not over large, 
a spring, and a little woodland sufficed for the 
wants of man. 

The party was not composed of such elements 
as the Arcadians of the seventeenth century of 

70 



At the Spring 

Rome, who repaired to the hills to read sonnets, 
elegies, canzonets, and epigrams. They had no 
guide, Ciampoli, Crescimbeni, or Metastasis, 
adopted by Gravina among the guests, yet each 
prepared to enjoy the hour in a characteristic 
fashion. They sought the rocky portal of the 
spring, and the practical element unpacked the 
hampers on a convenient space of green sward. 
The tragedienne cast aside the fatigues of a pro- 
fessional career in all European capitals with her 
straw hat on the ground, and pushed back the 
coronet of heavy, black, braided hair from a fine 
brow. Beauty, very tiny and piquante, essayed 
on tiptoe to drag down some sprays of ivy from 
a wall. 

" The most precious perfumes are ever kept in 
the smallest vases, " said the French composer, 
gallantly assisting in the task. 

" Pour libations to Ceres that the wheat may 
grow for all this countryside ! " exclaimed the 
poet of the hour with mock fervour, '' Bring 
wine, roses, nard, and meats for the sacrifice to 
this shrine of Pliny's meditations." He was 

71 



A World's Shrine 



esteemed himself an amiable pagan, who be- 
lieved in Pales, Venus, and still more firmly in 
the Muses. 

The historian, tall, slender, with the severe 
features and silvered locks of a sage, was the 
chosen host of the occasion. His creed in an 
illustrious career was that truth was the polar 
star of his navigation. 

"What shall the meats of sacrifice be, my 
friend?" he demanded, smiling. 

"The picnic is ancient," said the American. 
" In the time of Tertullian each of us would have 
brought his own plate." 

"As to food, Achilles received Priam with 
Iamb, and bread served in baskets," suggested 
the Tragedienne, helping herself to fruit. 

" Homer praised flour mingled with cheese and 
honey as the most delicate portion of heroes," 
added the English geologist. 

" A fig for Homer ! " railed the poet. " I 
scorn, to-day, even Pliny's thrushes, served with 
wild asparagus cut under the vines. Give me 
nothing less than the brains of the six ostriches 

72 



At the Spring 

on a silver dish demanded by Heliogabalus. 
Well! If needs must — -" and he removed a 
ham-sandwich, with finger and thumb, from a 
pyramid heaped on a napkin. 

The lady of rank nibbled a galette, while the 
sunshine sparkled on the jewels in her ears and 
on her hands. 

" For whom do you weave a garland ? " she 
inquired of Beauty. 

The latter had gathered her harvest of ivy 
sprays in her lap, and sat in the shade of the 
laurel hedge, a charming figure env^eloped in 
silky draperies and lace. 

** I must choose a subject," she replied de- 
murely, surveying her companions through her 
eyelashes. 

*' Ah ! " sighed the French composer. ** Lu- 
cullus paid a thousand crowns for the portrait of 
Glycera seated, and making a flower wreath." 

*' My child, it is easier to fashion a garland 
than to find a head worthy to wear it, according 
to Goethe," warned the historian. 

Whereupon Beauty approached, and dropped 

73 



A World's Shrine 



her crown on his silvery locks, amidst the ap- 
plause of her friends. 

The singers, soprano and tenor, paced the 
path slowly, arm in arm, their voices blending in 
a subdued and fragmentary cadence. The Swede 
dislodged a fragment of stone from an archway 
with his cane. Pie discussed the possibility of a 
glacier origin, and how it came there, with the 
Englishman and American. Truly science has no 
country, and the trio were brothers on the spot. 
The Frenchman held a wine-glass of foaming 
Asti, and demanded of the bevy of ladies, in the 
language of Charles d'Orleans, the Beranger of 
the fifteenth century, in what country the beautiful 
Flora was to be discovered, the discreet Heloise, 
the white Queen Blanche, like a lily, who sang 
with the voice of a siren, or Jeanne, the good 
Lorrainese burned by the English at Rouen. 

" Sacrilege ! " quoth the American, approach- 
ing the fount with a cup. ** Pliny should be 
pledged in his spring here, at least." 

" To the fountain of Bandusium as clear as 
glass, and the source where Numa sacrificed a 

74 



At the Spring 

kid crowned with flowers," echoed the Swede, 
fiUing a crystal goblet in turn. '* To the first 
temperance man, Lycurgus, King of Thrace, who 
had the vines in his kingdom uprooted because 
his subjects were becoming too fond of the fer- 
mented juice," said the diplomatist from the 
Hague. 

" Bacchus made him mad in revenge," added 
the lady of rank, slyly, and dipped her jewelled 
fingers in the rill. 

" Sheer fallacies ! " interposed the poet, muti- 
nously, and uncorked a bottle of champagne. 
'' Pliny recommended old Falernian, poured in 
bowls and cooled in a stream." 

"Assuredly," assented the diplomatist. "Also 
the lyrics of Alcaeus were drinking-songs in 
praise of wine, which never came amiss, appar- 
ently, in the heat of summer, the cold of winter, 
the blazing dogstar, and driving tempest." 

" I must declare with Tony Lumpkin, that 
good liquor gives genius a better discerning," 
said the Englishman, replenishing his glass with 
sherry, 

75 



A World's Shrine 



The tragedienne quoted Cassio : " O thou in- 
visible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be 
known by let us call thee devil." 

The traveller readjusted his fez, and ate a slice 
of melon with gravity. 

" The Koran hath it that every berry of the 
vine is a devil," he supplemented. 

The American insisted, with Longfellow, that 
youth dwells in the fountains, the rivulets from 
the hills, and not in casks and cellars. 

Silence ensued, a lull of mere chat in the lan- 
guid heat, like the effervescence of the liquid in 
the half-emptied glass, and the fragments of the 
repast scattered on the sward. 

Pliny, the host, once more spoke in his letter 
to Licinius Surra : 

" I have brought you a little gift from my native 
place in the shape of a problem quite worthy of your 
profound knowledge. A spring rises in the mountain, 
runs down among the rocks, and is received in an arti- 
ficial chamber where one can lunch. After a short 
stay there it falls into the Lake of Como. Its character 
is extraordinary. Three times a day it waxes and 

76 



At the Spring 

wanes with regular rise and fall. That is plain to be 
seen, and is very interesting to watch. You lie near 
to it, and eat your food, while you drink from the 
spring itself, which is intensely cold. Meanwhile it 
either ebbs or flows with sure and measured move- 
ments. Suppose you place a ring, or anything else 
you like, upon a dry spot. The water reaches it and 
at last covers it, again slowly retires and leaves the ob- 
ject bare. If you watch longer you may see this double 
process repeated a second and a third time. Can it 
be that some subtle wind alternately opens and shuts 
the mouth and jaws of the spring, as it rushes in and 
out again ? Or is the nature of the ocean the nature 
of this spring, as well ? On the same principle that the 
former ebbs and flows does this modest stream experi- 
ence its alternate tides? Or, as rivers which run into 
the sea are hurled back by counter winds and incoming 
currents, so is there something which checks the flow 
of this spring? " 

The shadows of the trees deepened with the 
waning afternoon. The house gleamed mute 
and cold through the foliage. Associations of 
conspiracy, gloomy failures, and tragic revelations 
of state secrets seem to belong to the spot, as the 

77 



A World's Shrine 



moss and ivy cling to the masonry. The villa 
was built by the Count Giovanni Anguissola, one 
of the four assassins of the Duke Farnese at Pia- 
cenza. A transient bloom of feminine loveliness 
and grace gleams here, for a moment, in the re- 
membrance of the Princess Belgiojoso, patriotic 
heroine, diplomatic emissary, or political spy in 
the national affairs of her day, according to the 
point of view. 

The shade of the chestnut groves of the upper 
slopes lengthened to the lake margin, and the 
company prepared to depart. The American, 
the water drinker of the party par excellencey 
filled a tiny cup of chamois horn at the spring, as 
a rite of farewell. 

'' A deep-seated reservoir, fed by perennial 
springs, and connected with the outer air by some 
syphon-like channel in the rock would solve the 
mystery of Pliny's fountain," he mused. 

The English geologist held his hands in the 
cool current. 

'' Yes, there are intermittent wells in other 
lands," he assented. 

78 



At the Spring 

** But with no such regularity of rise and fall," 
said the historian, eagerly. 

The poet drew the Swede to a crevice of the 
rocks to listen to sounds which might be only the 
wind sighing through cavities and fissures, or 
the mysterious mingling of the voices of invisible 
beings. 

*' How truly does poetry become a science of 
life and of the human heart in such a place," he 
said. " Oh, what colouring it imparts to the 
passing hours! What delicacy of touch is need- 
ful on the flute of Arcady, the guitar of Provence, 
and the lyre ! " 

The French composer lighted a cigar and blew 
a cloud in the air. 

" Renown is a puff of smoke, but Pliny seems 
to have enjoyed a fair share of it," he suggested. 
" Lucan celebrated in verse the citizen of the 
world, the man who does not consider himself born 
for his own uses alone, but for the human race, 
and is animated by a sacred love for the entire 
universe," remarked the historian, removing the 
ivy crown from his head, with a glance at Beauty. 

79 



A World's Shrine 



" That description might serve as a portrait 
of Pliny the Younger," said the tragedienne, 
rising. 

Where are they now, the company of a summer 
day? They haunt the shores of Como no more. 



80 



VII 

A TEMPLE OF JUPITER 

THE round temple, with roof supported 
by columns, was only a dilapidated 
summer house, by day, sadly in need 
of cement and whitewash. The bat- 
tered statue on a pedestal in the centre might have 
represented Neptune, or Esculapius, as well as 
Jove, The property had been neglected since the 
decease of the last owner. Nature had made 
herself self-elected guardian of the stretch of 
shore in a tangled wilderness of roses and jasmine, 
brambles and weeds, stifling the mildewed busts 
and nymphs flanking the path leading to the 
temple in the embrace of rank vines, and un- 
trimmed shrubbery. 

Youth had ridiculed these goddesses, with all 
the garish blemishes wrought by Time unveiled 
in the morning light, and even sketched carica- 
6 81 



A World's Shrine 



tures of such as lacked noses, an arm, or had 
fallen prone among the geraniums of the border. 
Youth escaped as evening deepened to night 
from the crowded table d'h6te, sought the secluded 
temple, seated himself on the step, and kindled 
a fresh cigarette. The beautiful girl opposite at 
dinner had strolled away with the officer after- 
ward. Youth, gifted with the extraordinary 
volubility of his years, and the Latin races, had 
discussed the religions of the world with his 
elders. He was alert to take a part in this age 
of eternal inquiry, philosophical or religious. 
Should he adhere to a stoicism merging into 
Jansenism and Calvinism; Epicureanism, con- 
tented with a flowery surface of things; a Pan- 
theism that adores to the depths ; or the Deism 
which finds the universe full of beneficent sun- 
shine? Lo ! the lore of the universities of 
Bologna, Pisa, and Rome was on his lips. His 
mother had listened to his prating with com- 
placency. The beautiful girl, femininely incon- 
sequent, had lent ear to the airy badinage of the 
military hero instead. 

82 



A Temple of Jupiter 



The student was a prey to novel emotions, the 
unfolding of manhood in the " vernal impulsion 
that makes lyrical all that hath language." He 
sought the solitude of the neglected garden to 
avoid mere noisy companionship, and listen to 
the nightingales reputed to haunt these thickets. 
Physical twilight is precious to all souls at 
times, according to Pater. The reclining nymph 
on the ledge held her broken urn, and the water 
flowed into a moss-stained basin below, with a 
gurgling, monotonous rhythm of sound. The 
nightingale poured forth a sudden, gushing 
melody from the foliage, at once melancholy and 
rich. The cigarette smoke became a white cloud, 
and touched his eyelids. The flowing water, 
and the nightingale's note mingled in a blended 
undertone. Surely the shapes about stirred, the 
smoke was swept hither and thither into the 
semblance of a dancing movement of satyrs and 
naiads wending through the shrubbery. A range 
of rudely cut heads on a coping near the ground, 
which were sufficiently coarse to belong to the 
earthen vases of clay of the age of Numa, 

83 



A World's Shrine 



laughed. They were the little gods down among 
the roots and turf. 

*' We belong to the most ancient forms of wor- 
ship, Greek, Assyrian, and Indian," they seemed 
to clamour. " Make sacrifice to us with cakes 
and crackling salt ! Pour libations of wine about 
the plane tree ! " 

A bust on a pillar near-by announced reproach- 
fully to the mortal intruder : 

*' You drew my profile to-day with a broken 
chin. I am not a boy, but a girl. I am Juventas, 
the Hebe of the Greeks. I am Youth. I wish to 
know, to understand all ! My brain teems with 
many projects of enterprise." 

" Child ! How you prattle on," remarked the 
seated Jove. 

In the dusk this shrine was blanched to marble 
and pearl. Jupiter, from whom mankind once 
received all blessings and misfortunes, held his 
sceptre of cypress and the thunderbolts, while 
his throne was made of ivory and gold. On 
Como the god may have taught the first man 
to eat acorns from the oak-tree sacred to him. 

84 



A Temple of Jupiter 



Even sacrifice of the bull, with gilded horns, and 
a garland of roses around the neck, by white- 
robed priests, might have taken place before this 
altar, while saffron was cast on the fire. 

The student, seated on the step, longed to in- 
quire if this was the statue placed in the Temple 
of Jupiter by Pliny the Younger when he returned 
to Como in maturity, but his lips were dumb. 

** I have my own thoughts," protested Juventas. 

'' It is enough to live through the summer 
hours, with pipe of flute and dancing," said 
Faunus from the ilex hedge, 

"No ! It is not enough," retorted Juventas. 

" My very words at table," thought the student. 
" How this battered head interprets my own 
opinions." 

A murmur of kindred voices was audible from 
the adjacent path. 

"What do you wish to know?" 

" The creeds of men. The true religion 
through all ages," replied rash adolescence. 

" Child, seek not to be overwise," admonished 
Jupiter, as if weary of his power. 

85 



A World's Shrine 



" Just pipe and dance with the nymphs as 
befits your years," mocked Faunus. 

The voices in the alley increased in animation, 
oddly mingled with the gurgling flow of water 
from the broken urn, and an occasional outburst 
of song of the nightingale. There seemed to be 
endless discussion of dimly conceived personifi- 
cation of benignant deities, to be propitiated, 
of the mysteries of a future life, and the demi- 
gods to bridge over the chasm between mor- 
tality and the realm of spirits in the fear of 
Minos and Cerberus. One voice spoke dis- 
tinctly of the gloomy tenets of the Etruscans, 
the mysticism of Asia, the genial mythology of 
Greece. 

" Which to believe?" sighed Juventas. 

*' Believe in life and happiness," said Faunus, 
carelessly. " Let Venus make her parure of 
myrtle, and the naiads deck themselves with pale 
violets. Leave the laurel to Apollo. Gather 
narcissus and tufts of aniseed." 

Ceres, matronly and benign, guarded a ruined 
fountain, with a shrine near-by which might have 

86 



A Temple of Jupiter 

belonged to the Lares and Penates, adorned with 
a bunch of poppies. 

'' Mine is the true religion," she said, musingly. 
'' Worship all nature in the bounty of the gifts of 
seed-time and harvest." 

" Ah, Mother Earth, it does not suffice for the 
human soul to reap and sow," said Socrates from 
the shrubbery. '' Men are not all early farmers. 
Keep your Penates for rustic hearths and the 
corner shrines of Roman streets." 

"The Christian poet, Prudentius, even com- 
plained of genii, symbols, and portraits over 
baths and houses, with wax candles and lanterns 
hung before tutelary deities," meditated the 

student. 

'' I will study and reflect night and day until I 
find the clue I seek," demurred Juventas. 

" Eat, drink, and be merry," counselled Faunus. 

Aphrodite, among the roses, laughed. 

" Much learning of books may make you mad," 
reasoned Faunus, lightly. 

'' All men are a little mad," affirmed Zeno, in 
the distance. 

87 



A World's Shrine 



'* I must win honour and fame in my time," 
cried Juventas. 

" Child, you have projects enough in your mind 
for a thousand years," said Jupiter, gravely. 

*' Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who 
haunt this place, give beauty in the inward soul, 
and may the outward and inward be one," ex- 
claimed Socrates. 

Then Epictetus spoke sweetly in protest of 
materiahsm, and for a striving after noble aims and 
mental tranquillity. In the first century the Stoics 
and Epicureans had essayed to supply a rule of 
life which they could not find in the worship of 
the gods. 

** Ah, well ! We are all brothers because we are 
all God's children," concluded the philosopher. 

After that it seemed to the student all debate 
was fragmentary and confusing among the philos- 
ophers of the shrubbery. He became aware, 
with a thrill of wonder, that the Flora, in her 
light tunic, resembled the beautiful girl of his 
thoughts, and was actually the presiding presence 
of the neglected parterre. 

88 



A Temple of Jupiter 



" Cold is mitigated by the Zephyrs. Summer 
follows close upon the spring, shortly to die itself, 
as soon as fruitful autumn shall have shed its 
fruits, and anon sluggish winter returns again," 
Flora murmured. 

The note of a bell fell on the ear of the stu- 
dent. He started to his feet. The cigarette had 
fallen on the ground. The statues were mute. 
The nightingale was hushed, and the water 
flowed from the urn monotonously. The bell 
pealed out on the darkness from a church tower, 
ringing the Ave Maria an hour before dawn of 
the June day. Thus the Christian sect, tolerated 
as inoffensive and unimportant by the Emperor 
Trajan and Pliny the Younger, has grown 
through all the succeeding centuries and spread 
to the ends of the earth. 



89 



VIII 
SIGNAL TOWERS 

LIVES there a traveller journeying towards 
Lake Como who is not moved to an 
A awakening curiosity and interest by the 
first glimpse of a tower rising on a 
height? The adjacent detached fragments of 
masonry may suggest only the picturesque rem- 
nants of a mediaeval castle, but the tower is a 
key-note, in site and foundations, at least, of the 
day of Roman ascendency over Europe. A picture 
of the romantic era of literature is presented to the 
most practical mind in the gliding past of a rail- 
way train, of the knight spurring forth over the 
drawbridge, falcon on wrist, and the noble dame 
in damask robe and farthingale at the casement. 
The tower, whether built of roughly jointed stone, 
with bold machicolations of battlements, or as 
having square angle turrets, has other associations. 

90 



Signal Towers 

The tap of the telegraph is audible on the shores 
of Como to-day. The official in the station writes 
off the brief message, and sends forth the de- 
spatch to the local silk merchant, or the stranger 
within the gates. The transaction is scarcely of 
more moment than the arrival of the mail. 

Once the towers on the ridge served the same 
end in a more tragic and momentous fashion. 
How thrilling the greeting, or warning, read by 
trembling women and children in the beacon of 
day or night from these signal stations ! How 
the bronzed cheek of manhood paled, and the 
heart of youth throbbed tumultuously at the 
message that there was danger in the very air for 
all the inhabitants of the surrounding country, 
and even the frontier ! 

Now these citadels may be the granary of a 
farm, heaped full of hay and golden straw, with 
red peppers and ears of maize strung above an 
embrasure to dry in the sun of autumn. The 
pigeons circle around the parapet, and the swal- 
lows dart out of the fissures in the coping. In 
the court-yard and moat the fowls cackle, a 

91 



A World's Shrine 



lamb bleats, or a donkey brays. The large square 
villa near-by has been the summer home for gen- 
erations of a Lombard family. All wears the as- 
pect of rural contentment and peace. 

The old towers, furrowed and scarred by storms, 
guard their memories of a grim past. 

Baradello on the hill of San Martino sent 
messages to Torno, Argegno, Cavagnola, Val 
Intelvi, Bellaggio,Valassina, Menaggio, Grandola, 
Rezzonico, and Torre Olinio to the Valtellina, on 
one side, and along the course of the Ticino, 
Chiasso, Mendrisio, and Bellinzona, with the 
three old castles still crowning the crags, on the 
other. These signals were colours by day, and 
torches, or bonfires on the highest peaks at night. 

" The robber lord of yonder fastness is making 
ready to sally forth on a raid. Flee to shelter 
with the family and the flocks ! " the warning of 
noon and night have been. 

One hamlet could transmit the dreaded news to 
another in the gorges of the mountains by con- 
fiding several handfuls of sawdust to the rapid 
glacier stream to be swept on the current, and 

92 



Signal Towers 

discerned by anxious eyes aware of the meaning. 
The beacon fire of midnight signified, possibly, a 
general alarm in the approach of vast armies of 
barbarians, fierce and strange of garb and speech, 
Goth, Gaul, and Hun intent on reaching the 
gates of Rome. 

'*Woe and desolation ! The foe is upon us! " 
the pulsing flame of the hill-top proclaimed, and 
was answered by a wail of distress and fear 
throughout the length and breadth of the land. 

And the old towers brood over the past. The 
present time does not touch them. The modern 
world moves on wings of light and speed in the 
telegraph, and on wings of sound in the tele- 
phone. The pigeons and swallows that build 
their nests under the battlements do not trouble 
their heads about the matter, unless they promise 
to carry a greeting to the next castle ruin in a 
fresh flight. The sheep and calves bleat below. 
Children laugh. A young contadino sings in a 
reedy voice, with curious turns and inflections of 
measure that severe cold in January, bad weather 
in February, wind in March, soft rains of April, 

93 



A World's Shrine 



dews in May, a good reaping in June, a fine 

winnowing in July, and the three storms of 

August, — make a season worth more than the 

throne of Solomon. 

An army in glittering uniform, with cavalr}^ 

and artillery, capable of shattering any structure 
to the foundations with shell, or riddling the 
walls with bullets, does not disturb these hoary 
sentinels. The towers dote and dream only of 
those earlier hosts that advanced in slow waves 
of humanity, with their households, chariots, and 
weapons, and the murmur of many voices, even 
as the locusts settled on Lombardy in 873, and 
again in 1364, leaving no green leaf 

Pliny the Younger, as child and man, must 
have scanned the towers, demanding of these 
guardians if all was well, and the good citizens of 
Como might hope to sleep in security through 
the watches of the night. What would he have 
thought of that key-note of the twentieth century, 
whispering a message over the ocean wave, wire- 
less telegraphy? 



94 



IX 

AN ANCHORITE 

MANY years ago a man climbed to 
the summit of Monte Generoso, 
and built himself some sort of hut, 
or rude chapel to dwell there. 
The act was more of an achievement than it is in 
our day, when the pedestrian who has descended 
to Como by that northern gate of mountain bar- 
rier takes a morning walk on the gentle slopes 
leading to the height, scornful of aid to vigorous 
muscles of funicular railway, or mule. The com- 
monplace rite of seeking this renowned shrine to 
obtain the view cannot rob Nature of her charm 
of an unsurpassed richness and beauty in the 
spectacle of the amphitheatre of snow line vis- 
ible, and the Lombardy plain stretching south- 
ward in billows of misty green verdure. Such 

95 



A World's Shrine 



moments are, indeed, the very " peaks of life " 
to most mortals. 

The pioneer climber was an anchorite, eager to 
plant his standard of Christianity on the crags. 
His personality is shadowy. His feat of making 
a hermit's cell on the top of a mountain, wherein 
to pray for the sins and sorrows of the world at 
his feet, seems one of unquestionable nobility of 
aim. He thus becomes the leading figure of the 
region in that dawning light of a new era of civ- 
ilisation, with the sheltered, flower-scented haunts 
of the gods of Pliny's Eden of the lake below. 
The omens and oracles of pagan times had given 
way to visions ecstatic of the soul and conscience. 
The hermit dwelt in the shadow of the Past, in 
day-dreams, yet with fresh invocation of saints 
and worship of relics. The heathen turned away 
from death and sadness. Medisevalism meditated 
from preference on the charnel-house. What 
was gained without some loss in the example of 
the anchorite? He was not a San Abbondio, 
patron of that portion of Italy, whose history as 
fourth Bishop of Como, under Pope Leo I., and 

96 



An Anchorite 



zeal in extirpating idolatry, may be read on the 
painted glass of the windows of the Como Cathe- 
dral. The miracles surrounding the name of St. 
Ambrose, as one of the Latin fathers, do not 
seem to have fallen to his share as well. He did 
not command a flock of geese to follow him into 
the presence of the Pope, like St. Leopardo, or 
call a company of birds to descend from the air, 
after the example of St. Brandolino. His name 
was Manfredo da Settala, and he was a Milanese 
by birth. As first curate of Cuazzo he was 
urged to pray at the tomb of San Gerardo at 
Monza that a visitation of pestilence at Olgiate 
might cease. The plague was stayed. The in- 
ference is clear that he had a reputation for 
sanctity from this fact. 

The new creed acquired many picturesque 
phases around the Lake of Como with the lapse 
of years. The Lombardy plain was then a 
vast solitude, partially overflowed by rivers in 
spring and autumn, with thickets kept as pre- 
serves of hunting by the feudal lords. The 
peasantry were forbidden to poach on the pheas- 
7 97 



A World's Shrine 



ants and hares, even if the harvest had been 
spoiled. Wild boars roamed in these woods 
even in the day of Francesco Sforza. The 
anchorite of Monte Generoso had outspread 
before him such a savage waste, instead of the 
blooming expanse now yielding grain, oil, chest- 
nuts, and wine. The maize rippling in the 
yellow waves of a golden sea beneath the rays of 
the fierce July and August sun, was brought 
from Soria during the Crusades ; a royal gift to 
Italy. The slave populations of Rome planted 
the first gardens around Como, but agriculture 
owed much to the early monks, who everywhere 
cleared forests, made the morass fertile, and 
cultivated vines and olives. The most ancient 
archives contain records of kitchen gardens, mea- 
dows, orchards, groves, vineyards, pasturage, and 
aqueducts. Pious ladies acquired the agreeable 
custom of bestowing property on religious com- 
munities. In 757, Valderana, wife of Arochis da 
Arzago made a gift to the church of San Zenone 
in Campione, with land, olives, and vineyards. 
The holy William of Monza built a Franciscan 

98 



An Anchorite 



monastery above Como. Elena de Pedragli 
erected a convent at Brunate in 1341. The 
thought is harmonious that the monks may have 
introduced many plants, brought by pilgrims and 
travellers from distant lands, acacia, red oak, 
clover, the locust tree to sustain slips of the 
mountains, and the border of torrents, the 
meadow lupine of arid and calcareous districts, 
the agave and heath. The monastery of San 
Abbondio became noted for serving the trout of 
the Adda and Poschieva, streams still famous 
for these fish. The cheese of Ardenno and 
Berbenno acquired reputation, as well as the 
olives and mills. The good cheer and hospitality 
of the abbeys of all countries is suggested by the 
praise of the unusual size of some truffles sent by 
St. Felix, first Bishop of Como, to St. Ambrose 
in early annals. 

The record of religious orders for six centuries 
is that of the preservation of learning, building 
churches, working in mosaic, carving wood, 
painting glass, and establishing laboratories of 
drugs and chemicals. Spiritual-minded women 

99 
LofC. 



A World's Shrine 



became abbesses and saints all about the lake 
of Como, as in England and Germany, emulative 
of Elisabeth of Hungary, Hildegarde, and Wal- 
purga. None of them obtained the celebrity of 
a Catherine of Siena, or St. Theresa. The order 
of the Umiliati established the manufacture of 
wool in Lombardy. Women, especially nuns, 
spun, and men wove white robes and veils. 

The anchorite watched and prayed instead. 
In the twilight his image is readily fashioned out 
of the gathering clouds and shadows, as certain 
rocks of the Carrara mountains gain a human 
semblance of a giant, or a spirit of the Apennines, 
winged and bearded, and a crag beyond Mentone 
is the figure of a monk seated, with his head 
enveloped in a cowl. If accurate history of the 
recluse of Monte Generoso has been treasured in 
monastic archives, and saints' lives, the research 
is beyond our ken. What manner of holy man 
was he? How did he live on the summit? Did 
the country folk bring him offerings of food, as 
the bowl of the Eastern fakir is filled with rice 
by the faithful? His fare may have been herbs 

100 



An Anchorite 



and roots. A faithful goat possibly accompanied 
him to this retreat to nourish the recluse with 
rich milk, and subsist on the scanty herbage 
among the broom of the belt above chestnut 
and beech-wood. The cattle that browse on the 
slopes through the summertide, with a melodious 
tinkle of bells, and thrust the innocent heads of 
pretty heifers, confidingly, on pedestrians sketch- 
ing in nooks, can scarcely have obtained a foot- 
ing in the thickets at that date. The bees, clad 
in brown velvet waistcoats, buzzed about other 
blooms than the great, silvery thistles of the 
August noon, the gentian of high pastures, flax, 
thyme, or madder. He left to the communities 
of the valleys labour, and chose contemplation. 
Expiation for the crimes of war, penances, 
martyrdom would have served the aim of seeking 
such a goal. If he adhered to the mystic tenets 
of St. Francis he scourged himself, imagined that 
he was tormented by demons in the vigils of 
night, or indulged in visions of a Heaven 
peopled with angels. If he was a follower of 
St. Benedict his hours were spent in calm 

lOI 



A World's Shrine 



meditation. We like to consider him as a sort of 
Friar Laurence, going forth at break of day 
with his osier basket to gather baleful weeds and 
precious-juiced flowers, finding within the infant 
rind of one tiny blossom that poison had residence, 
and medicine power, and moralising on similar 
good and evil principles in man. Ready was he, 
also, to dip into tragedies of life, and heal strife. 
He chose the light. He had eyes and a soul. 
If his senses were benumbed by years and suffer- 
ing, his perceptions blurred by the morbid and 
fantastic doctrines of his fellow-man, how can it 
have been otherwise? His nature must have 
become luminous with the glowing universe 
surrounding him. 

He watched the East with folded hands, after 
the gloom of awful engulfing darkness, when the 
stars paled, and one by one the mountains grew 
distinct from Monte Viso to the Bernina, the 
crown-like head of Monte Rosa, the chalky white 
masses of Mont Blanc, and the sharp and jagged 
outline of the Bernese oberland. The sky 
became tinged with lilac, purple, and crimson as 

1 02 



An Anchorite 



the rising sun touched the peaks with a spear of 
fire. Far below the lakes reflected the heavens, 
Varese, Maggiore, Lugano, with all the exquisite 
gradations of tints of a peacock's plumage, and 
Como a sheet of crystal. 

The anchorite, as soHtary spectator, gazed at 
these amplitudes of space, and praised his 
Creator. 



103 



X 

A MEDIAEVAL QUEEN 

ONCE upon a time there was a queen, 
I and she made a journey in a litter to 
' the mineral baths of Val Masino, in 
the Valtellina, along the cornice be- 
tween Menaggio and Gravedona, leading from 
Como to Trepievi, known as the Queen's Road 
(Strada Regina) to this day. The cliff is precipi- 
tous, and of a tawny hue, hence the name of 
Orange Rock, and the path considered danger- 
ous. The Russians chose the route in 1799, and 
many soldiers fell over the brink. 

The flowers blooming in clefts of the roadside 
know all about the matter, from their ancestors, 
and the birds — such as escape from the snare of 
the fowler in these regions — have, no doubt, 
heard the tale from their feathered grandmothers 
of how Theodolinda, of wise and virtuous fame, 

104 



A Mediaeval Queen 



was an early traveller on these shores. One of 
the charms of the irregular growth of town, 
hamlet, or villa property of the little Paradise is 
that roads do not environ the lake in firm cause- 
way or picturesque cornice, wending amidst the 
shrubbery, but intrude, for a span, in a casual 
mode, between promontory, bay, and mountain 
wall. The Queen's Road is therefore the more 
conspicuous. This noble lady lived a long time 
ago, having been born in the year 561, but her 
renown still endures. The Lombards held sway 
in Italy for two hundred and six years, until sub- 
dued by Charlemagne in 774. The dominion of 
Odoacer had extended from Sicily to the Danube. 
His wife, Andefleda, owned a palace on Como. 
Theodolinda is called a Lombard queen. She 
was a Bavarian princess. Her story is a romantic 
one. When Rosamund had slain her lord Alboin, 
with the aid of two officers, during his afternoon 
nap, for profi'ering her father's skull as a drinking- 
cup in tipsy jocularity, the Lombards gathered 
at Pavia to choose a new ruler. They presented 
the lance of command to Clefis, who governed 

105 



A World's Shrine 



them unwillingly for a year and a half, and was 
assassinated by a groom. The Lombard nobility 
next decided to elect a king, and chose his son, 
Autaris, "the long-haired," a youth of bravery 
and beauty. He sent an embassy to Garibaldo, 
King of Bavaria, demanding the hand of his 
daughter in marriage. He went himself as an 
adventurous knight on the mission, disguised as 
the emissary, to see the fair one and judge of her 
merit. Evidently this Longobard had all the 
sterling qualities of his race, deemed hard and 
rough by the softer and more flexible Southern 
character, and cherished other sentiments than 
those of conquest and bloodshed. Theodolinda, 
full of maidenly grace, according to the chival- 
rous chronicler, handed the nuptial wine-cup to 
her father's guest. The young pair exchanged a 
glance of sympathy, and he kissed her hand with 
ardour in saluting the chalice. Dazzled and 
confused, Theodolinda confided the matter to her 
nurse, and this sagacious foster-mother divined 
the personality of the suitor. One is reminded 
of pictures of the Dutch and Munich schools, 

io6 



A Mediaeval Queen 



rich in sentiment and detail, with all the shimmer 
of gems, weapons, and polished platters, the at- 
tendants and strangers grouped in the back- 
ground, and that central figure, the princess, 
with tresses braided down her back, presenting 
the goblet and meeting a lover's contemplation in 
the envoy. 

Subsequently the Bavarian monarch fled to 
Verona with his child, to escape from disturb- 
ances in his kingdom, instigated by the Frank 
Chilperic of Soissons to prevent the union. Theo- 
dolinda married Autaris, who lived a year. She 
then espoused Agiluph, Duke of Turin, who be- 
came King of the Lombards in 590. He em- 
braced the Catholic faith, as well as many of his 
nobles, through her influence, while civilisation 
among the Lombards is considered to have begun 
with him. She is reproached by some authori- 
ties for thus supplanting Autaris " before his 
ashes were cold." The times were critical, and 
the lady Theodolinda, as a widow, may have 
sadly needed masculine protection for her throne. 
She would seem to have been fortunate in her 

107 



A World's Shrine 



choice of consorts ; at least neither of them offered 
her King Garibaldo's head as a drinking-cup in 
gruesome fashion. Had they done so, possibly 
she would have known how to manage them. 
She belongs in tradition to the ranks of good 
queens, about whom homely tales Hnger in song 
and poetry with the country-folk, the Berthas 
and Clotildas. Born to the purple, she played 
the difficult r61e of sovereign in a creditable 
manner. We are familiar with Queen Bertha, 
twirling her distaff as she rode her palfrey, as an 
example to the idle women among her subjects. 
Queen Theodolinda is associated with her hen 
and seven chickens, wrought in gold, as symbolical 
of Lombardy and her seven provinces. She had 
two children, a son, Adaloardo, and a daughter, 
Gundeberga. The children were christened, and 
the Basilica built at Monza by the parents, dedi- 
cated to St. John Baptist, in honour of the event. 
Here the son was crowned in the presence of 
Theodolinda. Pope Gregory the Great sent con- 
gratulations on the birth of an heir, and presented 
the mother with the Iron Crown. Two other 

io8 



A Mediaeval Queen 



coronets were kept in the treasury besides the 
circlet of iron. These were encrusted with jewels, 
and on one was engraved in Latin : "Agiluph, by 
the grace of God, a brave man, King of all Italy, 
makes this votive offering to San Giovanni in the 
Church of Monza." Theodolinda, during her 
reign, built a bridge of eighteen arches over the 
Breggia near Cernobbio ; a fine Campanile in the 
Brianza San Giovanni di Besano, above Viggino ; 
the Tower of Perledo ; the Church of San Mar- 
tino, near Varenna ; and St. John at Gravedona, 
on the site of a temple of Apollo. 

She passes no more along the Strada Regina 
of Como in her litter. F'or further trace of her 
we must seek the Monza Cathedral, with its 
ancient bas-reliefs over the western door, a 
Lombardo Gothic sanctuary built in the four- 
teenth century on the site of the earlier structure 
of 595. Here is the sarcophagus holding the 
ashes of Theodolinda, and all the record of her 
greatness. In the casket of the altar is the famous 
crown, lined with the iron made of a nail from 
the cross on Calvary, brought to Europe by the 

109 



A World's Shrine 



Empress Helena, worn at the coronation of thirty- 
four Lombard kings, and fitted on the head of 
many a brilliant monarch since. In the treasury 
the hen still guards her chickens, executed by 
the order of the royal lady, and her fan and 
comb may be inspected. 

Quaint, virile, and full of a certain dignity is 
the memory of the Mediaeval Queen. 



no 



XI 

A TINY GIBRALTAR 

THE modern warrior was alone on the 
Island of San Giovanni, in the Tre- 
mezzina, that portion of the lake 
known as the garden of Lombardy. 
He v/as a quiet gentleman of simple habits, fond 
of children, and of gathering ferns. A close 
scrutiny of his lineaments disclosed neck, chin, 
and cheek tanned deep bronze by the African 
sun, and a scar across the forehead of grim 
aspect. He measured the islet with his footsteps, 
and traced the hint of walls, buttresses, and 
arches with his cane. 

" A Gibraltar in miniature," he soliloquised, 
smilingly. "Why not?" 

Then he seated himself on a rock, and crushed 
an aromatic plant beneath his shoe. A lizard 

III 



A World's Shrine 



ran along a ledge, and paused on a stone to 
regard the intruder with true lizard curiosity. 
He avoided frightening the pretty creature by 
any brusque movement. He drew a note-book 
from his pocket. 

" I wonder if I shall be arrested, as a spy, 
by the government of the country if I take 
down the form of this stronghold," he said ; 
and his pencil idly traced imaginary turrets and 
bastions, while he mused on the history of the 
spot. 

When the Emperor Justinian I. reigned at 
Constantinople, and his generals Belisarius and 
Narses had carried the fear of his arms into 
Persia and Africa, the latter conquered Italy. 
Lo ! the Empress Sofia is said to have sneered 
at Narses, who, affronted, took a terrible revenge. 
The sway of the Goths had crumbled, and Totila 
been slain. Narses invited the Longobards into 
Italy to overthrow the power of the Eastern 
Empire. The fresh hordes, blue-eyed, and fierce, 
obeyed the summons. Alboin left Pannonia for 
Milan and Pavia. Such were the Lombards, 

112 



A Tiny Gibraltar 



adhering to many ancient Germanic customs, 
sensitive to honour, and usually chivalrous in 
the protection of women, scorning all luxury, 
and their language a difficult dialect to the 
Italians. They had only one trade, as a nomadic 
race, that of war, held their laws solely by mem- 
ory, were deemed very ignorant, not knowing 
how to read or write, and worshipped an idol 
made of the trunk of a tree. Discord had arisen 
among the Franks under Childipert. Autaris 
was made king in 584. Alboin, of cruel memory, 
had slain Cunemund of Servia, and forced his 
daughter Rosamund to marry him. Alboin 
turned his arms against the northern provinces 
of Italy, and gave the famous banquet at Verona 
ill 573> when he invited his consort Rosamund to 
drink from her father's skull. Narses had every- 
where cut the dikes of foreign invasion. 

Twenty years before Alboin overran the land, 
the Governor Francillioni of Como retired to the 
little islet of Comacina, and began to fortify the 
place as a refuge. Timid folk flocked here in 
the hope that times would improve. Other cities 
8 113 



A World's Shrine 



deposited their riches within the walls for safe- 
keeping. 

The island is half a mile long, and three hun- 
dred feet wide. It is situated in the Tremezzina 
of the lake, with the narrow stretch of water 
known as the Zocca del Olio separating it from 
the mainland. The dilapidated chapel of St. John 
alone remains. In the sixth century, at the date 
of the Lombard invasion, the stronghold decided 
to hold out against all foes, and still swear alle- 
giance to the emperor at Constantinople. The 
historical fact is droll at this distance of time. 
An islet in the middle of a little lake building 
towers, and gates, and battlements, in defiance of 
all the powers of the vicinity, in fealty to a distant 
emperor. Consider the valour of these pygmy 
hosts ! The garrison that manned the walls, the 
sentinels scanning adjacent shores, the guardians 
of the hoarded riches calculated to arouse the 
cupidity of barbarians, the disciphne and vigi- 
lance essential in the heart of the citadel to sup- 
press treachery and inspire courage — all had to 
be maintained with firmness. There was naval 

114 



A Tiny Gibraltar 



warfare then ! Autaris laid siege to the place 
with a mimic fleet and reduced it by famine in six 
months. The Governor Francillioni was able to 
secure honourable terms, and retired to Ravenna. 
The treasure fell to the enemy, precious vest- 
ments, jewels, money, chalices, and vessels of 
gold and silver once brought here by fugitives 
from their homes and churches. 

After King Rotharis had codified the Lom- 
bard customs into laws, in 636, and established 
guilds and trades, the Magistri Comacini were 
guests on the island. These were local artisans 
and builders, and are known as the first free- 
masons. They built the Monza Cathedral In 
architecture the Goths of the fifth century found 
in Italy the classical Roman debased. Encle- 
sius. Bishop of Ravenna, visited Constantinople 
in the sixth century, and brought back Greek 
workers from St. Sofia to erect San Vitale. 
Roman and Byzantine blended in a third order 
of Romanesque, or Comacine. 

The warlike spirit of the people of the island 
was not subdued. In the political disturbances 

115 



A World's Shrine 



of succeeding years, when the towns on the lake 
were divided by factions, the Comacina played a 
part in sieges and defiances of all sorts. In the 
contentions of Milan and Como of the middle 
ages, the tiny Gibraltar is reputed to have re- 
belled at maternal authority for ten years in favour 
of the rival. In wrath Como sent her fleet to 
punish the culprit. The rallying and setting 
sail of the war ships must have been an awe- 
inspiring spectacle from the shores of the lake. 
Forth sallied the Cristina, the Rat, the Griffin, 
the Wolf. Each of these had a wooden tower, 
while other craft were furnished with machines for 
firing stones, arrows, and combustibles. A gal- 
ley was long and heavy enough to transport 
projectiles of war, and another boat noted for 
speed. A captain at arms of Gravedona had 
invented lo Schifo in this bellicose era ; a bark 
holding twelve rowers, and twelve soldiers ready 
for action, with a white gonfalone with the three 
red crosses of the parish on it at the masthead, a 
crucifix and an altar on the deck. The island 
strengthened the fortifications which covered the 



ii6 



A Tiny Gibraltar 



place in stubborn resistance. Ah, hunger might 
be warded off for a season, and clumsy imple- 
ments thunder at gate and tower in vain ; even 
soldier in cuirass and helmet meet hostile soldier 
with clash of steel in some feat of sallying forth 
to the fray, but the day came when battlement 
and buttress would fall, like a house of cards, 
before a more formidable foe than the Lombard 
hosts, or mediaeval armies. Gunpowder came 
into general use. The sceptre of the islet 
passed. Gunpowder slew its thousands, and 
enabled the middle classes to cope with the 
knight in armour. 

Delecluze affirms that disputes as to the form 
of the earth caused Columbus to cross the Atlan- 
tic ; and the mechanical implements, simple toys 
of children, of the thirteenth century, were the 
first models of artillery destined to change the 
politics of Europe. 

The lizards crept away among the tufts of 
grass and vines. The waters sparkled in a 
flood of sunshine. It might be better for the 
world if no more trace existed of the great 

117 



A World's Shrine 



fortifications, Quadrilateral, Ehrenbretstein, Gib- 
raltar, and the modern warrior, so skilful with 
flashing sabre on occasion, wielded only his 
cane or umbrella of a summer holiday on 
Como. 



ii8 



XII 

A SPORTSMAN OF THE MIDDLE AGES 

THE rise of the Visconti to sovereign 
power in the thirteenth century fur- 
nished a phase of surpassing richness 
in the development of civihsation. 
Splendour, tyranny, cruelty, and deadly treachery 
were combined in these princes in a manner quite 
unparalleled in European history. Como was 
ever at the mercy of the despots, with other 
towns. 

Bernarbo Visconti, born in 13 19, stepped upon 
the scene as master of Bergamo, Brescia, Crema, 
and Cremona, one of the three nephews who suc- 
ceeded Giovanni, Archbishop of Milan. Auda- 
cious and brutal, Bernarbo was excommunicated 
by the Pope Urban V., who preached a crusade 
against him, and sought to crush the culprit by 

119 



A World's Shrine 



means of the Emperor Charles IV. He was a 
keen sportsman, and fond of tracking the wild 
boar with dogs. He was severe with all poachers 
on his preserves, and is accused of having them 
tortured, burned, or slain. He had the Abbot of 
St. Barnaba hung for taking hares. His enemies 
stigmatised him as a Nero, or a Caligula. That 
he was by no means as evil a character as depicted 
is revealed in the quaint Dialogue of the Chronicle 
of Azarlo. 

Bernarbo sojourned at Marignano. He hunted 
in the surrounding woods on horseback, and 
alone. The day was cold, the hour advanced, 
and he lost his road. He descried a poor peas- 
ant cutting wood. 

Bernarbo. The heavens help you, worthy man. 

Peasant. I have need of it. In this cold I can 
do little. The summer was bad; let us hope the 
winter may be better. 

The hunter alighted from his horse. The 
Dialogue continues thus: 

" Friend, you say the summer has been bad. 
How is that? The harvest has yielded abun- 

J20 



A Sportsman of the Middle Ages 

dantly In grain, and the vintage been good. 
What has gone wrong?" 

Peasant. Oh, we have anew the devil for our 
master. One hoped that when Signor Bruzio 
Visconti departed the devil was dead, but we 
have another master still worse. He takes the 
bread from our mouths. We poor natives of 
Lodi work like dogs, and only for his profit. 

Bernarbo. Certainly your master does wrong. 
... I pray you, friend, guide me out of this wood. 
It is late; night is near, and I think you, also, 
have no time to lose, if you seek to return to your 
own house. 

Peasant, Oh, T am in no haste to regain my 
home. I have left my wife and children in the 
house with little bread. 

Bernarbo, Well, conduct me out of this thicket, 
and you shall earn something for your trouble. 

Peasant. You only seek to turn me from my 
labour. Perhaps you are an infernal spirit. 
Cavaliers do not come to this wood. Or, if it 
please you, pay me first, and I will guide you 
where you wish. 

121 



A World's Shrine 



Bernarbb. What do you demand ? 

Peasant. A grosso (three pence) of Milan. 

Bernarbb, Once clear of this wood you shall 
have the grosso, and even more. 

Peasant. Oh, yes, to-morrow. You are on 
horseback, and outside the wood you will gallop 
off, while I remain planted here like a cabbage. 
Thus do the retainers of our diabolical lord. 

Bernarbb. Friend, why will you not believe in 
my good faith? Here is a pledge. 

He gave him the silver buckle of his belt. The 
contadino hid the gift in the bosom of his shirt, 
and led the way out of the wood, but, very weary, 
he walked slowly. 

Bernarbb. Good man, mount behind me. 

Peasant. Do you think your horse can carry 
two? You are so stout. 

Bernarbb. Oh, very well. The horse will 
carry both of us, and more, especially as, from 
what you say, you have not dined heavily. 

Peasant. You speak the truth. 

They traversed the wood. 

Bernarbb. Friend, you have given me only 

122 



A Sportsman of the Middle Ages 

evil tidings of your master. Of the Signor Ber- 
narbo of Milan ; what is your opinion of him ? 

Peasant They speak well of him. Although 
he is brutal he maintains order, and if he did not 
reign even we poor ones would not dare to enter 
these woods, for fear of assassins, to cut faggots. 
The Signor Bernarbo maintains justice, and always 
keeps his word. With the lord of Lodi it is 
quite different. 

The serf complained of one feudal chief who 
had seized a piece of ground, while others even 
pillaged household furniture. They escaped from 
the wood, and, shivering with cold, he alighted, 
urged Bernarb6 to hasten before night, and at 
the same time wished to restore the buckle, as 
he would be cast into prison for possessing such 
a treasure. 

Bernarbo. Friend, come with me. I promise 
you a good inn, a chimney to warm you, and a 
supper afterwards. To-morrow morning early 
you can return to your wife. 

The peasant hesitated, and then was tempted 
by the thought of the dozen small loaves the 

123 



A World's Shrine 



grosso of Milan would purchase to guide the 
stranger further on his road. They saw torches 
and bonfires. The lord slyly demanded of his 
humble companion what the commotion signi- 
fied. The latter explained that the great Vis- 
conti was in the vicinity, fond of hunting alone, 
and his retainers kindled fires at evening to 
guide his return. Soon a party came up, and 
saluted the sportsman respectfully. Bernarbo 
laughed. The peasant wished himself dead for 
fright. Bernarbo kept his word. The wood- 
cutter was conducted into a great apartment, 
warmed before the chimney, and seated at sup- 
per with the host. He was then refreshed by a 
bath, and luxurious bed, and dismissed the next 
day with further benefits. 

Such tales of prince and peasant are as old as 
kingcraft, but they are especially characteristic 
of Northern Italy, where the bluff and frank 
Dukes of Savoy, even to the late King Victor 
Emmanuel, met such na'ive and shrewd rustic 
opinions of themselves when hunting the cha- 
mois in the Alps. 

124 



XIII 

SPANISH FOOTSTEPS 

THE desolation of neglect, isolation, and 
low-hanging miasma broods over the 
plain of the Spaniards. The Castle 
of Fuentes was built by the Governor 
of Milan in 1603, despite promises to the contrary- 
made to the Grisons by Francesco Sforza. The 
site, as key to the Valtellina, is emblematic of the 
sway of these foreign rulers. Colico is near, 
the Monte Legnone rises beyond, and all about 
the stronghold the ravages of inundations are 
discernible, whether of the Maira, and its tribu- 
tary the Liro, on the side of Chiavenna, or the 
deposits of the Adda in separating to a narrow 
channel the Lago di Riva from Como, have 
wrought their work of depopulation and decay. 
The Governor of Milan suspected the advantages 
to the people of a new French treaty for the 

125 



A World's Shrine 



Grisons and the Valtellina, and erected the castle 
on the ridge of Montecchio at the entrance to 
the latter province, to dominate the road to 
Chiavenna, the lake, and the valley, and thus 
impede, at will, all trade with the mountain 
world of Rhetia. The act and motive were 
eminently Spanish. Francesco Sforza had ter- 
minated endless quarrels by a compact not to 
fortify any post on these routes. Fuentes per- 
sisted in his enterprise. He began the work in 
October, 1603, directed the labours of the mili- 
tary architect Broccardo Borrone of Piacenza on 
the designs of the engineer Captain Vacallo, and 
completed it in 1607. He thus closed the com- 
merce with Milan, kept an espionage on inter- 
course with Venice, and gave rise to the alarm 
that Spain meditated reconquering the Valtellina. 
There it stands to this day, sombre, grim, and 
melancholy, emblem of Spanish rule in other 
countries; trace of bastion, tower, or chapel 
discoverable among the shrubs, and tangled 
grasses of the hillside, with the plain below 
choked with rushes and marsh waste. The 

126 



Spanish Footsteps 



Spaniards sought to render the Castle of Fuentes 
the yoke of the Grisons. In turn the land has 
designated it as the grave of these conquerors, 
owing to the slow-sapping fever of the district. 
King Henry IV. of Navarre is accredited with 
the opinion that Spain sought here to tie Italy 
by the throat, and the Grisons by the feet with 
the same noose. The vipers make of the shell 
of former greatness their habitation, and the 
barefooted peasant flees at the warning hiss of 
the reptiles. Nature is unfriendly to the region 
in the sluggish overflow of stagnant waters, but 
the seal of Spain is also apparent in the inertia 
of past years. 

The moralist asserts that the same general 
traits form the public constitution of men, yet 
these qualities, modified by individual peculiari- 
ties, and taking their course, indicate a virtuous 
or vicious education, producing crime or nobility, 
light or darkness. In the same way plants nourish 
bees and snakes; for one they make honey, and 
for the other, poison. A corrupt vase sours the 
mildest liquid. The Plain of the Spaniard long 

127 



A World's Shrine 



belonged only to the viper and rank weeds, 
shunned by man. 

Pliny's delightful lake region had fallen on evil 
times in these centuries. The wonder is that one 
garden terrace was left to bloom, a house not 
despoiled of all riches, or a church tower left 
standing amidst the vicissitudes suffered from 
papal factions and the armies of rival nations 
sacking and plundering towns and countryside. 
Many timid natives turned their gaze in the 
direction of the mountain defiles of Switzerland 
as a possible refuge from the troubles harassing 
Italy. The valiant cantons, ever struggling to 
establish their own independence, were torn by 
desperate conflicts at the same time. War, pes- 
tilence, famine, and floods prevailed in hill and 
valley ; yet Como was renowned for the abundance 
of her olives, while the Valtellina was known for 
a delicate cheese, and wax, the fostering of bees 
serving as an important branch of industry, as 
well as generous wines which were served at his 
table by the Abbot of St. Gall to Rudolph of 
Hapsburg. Also the manufacturing industries of 

128 



Spanish Footsteps 



these countries were notable. Coire and Bormio 
had tariffs of trade with Modena, Como, Venice, 
and Milan in stuffs, armour, and glass. Fairs 
were the important marts of intercourse. 

The tyranny of the Visconti over Como had be- 
gun in dark fashion with Luchino Visconti, and en- 
dured in the exactions of Gian Galeazzo. On the 
death of Filippo Maria Visconti, four pretenders 
arose: Frederick III., King of the Romans; Al- 
phonse V., of Aragon, heir of the deceased in 
his testament; Charles, Duke of Orleans, because 
he was son of Valentina, the daughter of Gian 
Galeazzo ; and Francesco Sforza, as the husband 
of the illegitimate Bianca. Sforza, as Duke of 
Milan, harassed Como by reviving ancient taxes 
and tributes, but hope was not wholly extin- 
guished in the human breast. 

Francesco d'Avalos, Marquis of Pescara, held 
Como in 1521. The little Eden knew what it was 
to be rifled by French troops and German mer- 
cenaries. Other fleets traversed the lake and 
Lecco, carrying three sail, occasionally, and 
loaded with bombs. Peace was not permitted to 
9 129 



A World's Shrine 



weave her web of prosperity In tranquillity. Como 
had been perpetually swept by the tempests of 
conquest and tyranny. Italy, ever the slave of 
some foreign power since Roman supremacy, 
was to learn what was the rule of the Spanish 
taskmaster. 

An Italian historian thus laments : 

*' Wherever Spain has carried her sceptre, desolation 
and humiliation have resulted. Such was the case in 
Portugal, in America, in Flanders. Italy learned by 
the same experience the error of claiming protection 
of a prince far away, a stranger to all her natural senti- 
ments, as in Charles V., instead of consohdating power 
under some native ruler acquainted with her needs, and 
ready to facilitate them. ... No history leaves in my 
heart the sadness of the odious Spanish tyranny. Man 
entirely disappears : in the public laws not the general 
good, but only ambition, and absurd provision for spy- 
ing on the populace, exhausting the sources of riches ; 
edicts that speak continually of the need of the king, 
without considering those of the subject ; rapine with- 
out ceasing ; magistrates, devoid of virtue, shrouding 
their acts in mystery ; monopolies ; industry guarded 
like a thicket ; justice sold : the poor cast out in the 

130 



Spanish Footsteps 



street ; the better classes obliged to establish their own 
innocence by opening their castles as an asylum for 
every sort of knavery practised in derision of a weak 
government and ineffective laws; cities and country 
overrun by a rabble of soldiery, unpaid from the treas- 
ury, and seeking private reimbursement by means 
of threats and brutality ; the shops closed in fear ; the 
land abandoned, uncultivated, because of the enormous 
taxation. . . . Such has ever been the system." 

Charles V. came into an empire more vast than 
any other since Charlemagne. When he sought 
Italy he occupied Como and the Castle of Milan. 
He paid Francesco Sforza an indemnity of nine 
hundred thousand ducats. Charles was subse- 
quently crowned by the Pope at Bologna. In his 
rule over Italian affairs he was succeeded by his 
son Philip II., " a sovereign slow without pru- 
dence, ambitious without enterprise, false without 
abihty to deceive, and refined without profundity 
of subtlety. " Philip III. followed. Each mon- 
arch showed himself more weak than the other, 
all betrayed the people, and evinced the despot- 
ism, combined with lethargy, which ultimately 
caused the overthrow of Spain as mistress of the 

131 



A World's Shrine 



world. Como suffered all the affliction of the rule 
of these kings, who resembled Midas in the fable 
and were ever famished in the midst of gold. 
The governors sent here were charged to extort 
new taxes, while officials of State instituted a 
system of insult and depredation on the betrayed 
people. Colico was once a stretch of twelve 
thousand acres, planted with mulberry trees, corn, 
flags, and cane. Made into a county by the 
Visconti, Charles V. gave it to Sanseverino, 
Bellaggio to the Sfrondati, the Val Intelvi to 
Marliani, Lomazzo and Rovellasca to Casnedo, 
owing to the impecuniosity of the Chamber. 
P. Giovio pronounced Como, thus despoiled, a 
city smitten with a moral fever. Lombardy 
rapidly lost the finer traits of national character, 
and waxed ignorant, hypocritical, and abject 
under the Spanish sway. At the same time 
society became more corrupt, and luxury in- 
creased. Como indulged in masquerades, caval- 
cades with music, poetry, and the erection of 
triumphal arches in the streets. In 1613 the 
town boasted of eighteen carriages; in 1672 the 

132 



Spanish Footsteps 



number had increased to forty-nine. Coaches 
were inlaid with ebony and ivory, and drawn by 
four horses. The women were extravagant in 
costume, and wore long robes of silk and lace. 
They indulged in perfumes from foreign lands, 
and disdained native jasmine and rose scents. 
Spain established the Inquisition, chiefly for the 
persecution of Jews and witches. A sanctimo- 
nious cant was observed. No oil was allowed to 
be eaten in Lent, and a tax was paid for any ani- 
mal killed in Como during this season of penance, 
the sum of money being used for the Duomo. 

The most momentous phase of the Spanish 
supremacy was religious. When Martin Luther 
lifted his voice against the sale of indulgences by 
Pope Leo in 15 17, Como and the region turned a 
page, also, in the history of the Reformation. In 
vain Charles V. convoked the Diet of Worms in 
15 12, to check the progress of the Lutheran doc- 
trines, and involved Germany in war and tribula- 
tion. All the world, aghast, was required to 
contemplate the defiance of a new order that 
sought to found such dogmas as the overthrow 

^53 



A World's Shrine 



of papal authority, refusal to admit celibacy for 
the priesthood, baptism, the holy supper, the 
saints, purgatory, the confessional, — in fact, alle- 
giance to Rome. 

There is a popular tradition that Martin Luther 
preached in many places around the Lake of 
Como, and was driven from the pulpit at Menag- 
gio. Calvin is believed to have visited the court 
of Ferrara in 1535, disguised, to see the Duchess 
Renee of France. Contemporaneously with 
Luther, the curate Ulric Zwingli preached the 
same doctrines at Zurich. In the agitations, 
tumults, and bitter persecutions that ensued, fugi- 
tives fled from all countries to Switzerland. 

Voltaire has affirmed that few Italians gave 
their adherence to the Lutheran doctrines, as a 
people too much occupied with pleasure and in- 
trigue to take part in the serious disturbances of 
the time. Arnold of Brescia preached at Zurich 
in the twelfth century. Such Italians are cited 
as Giorgio Francispergio, a fanatical apostle of 
Lutheranism, who carried in his pocket a golden 
cord with which to strangle Clement VII. as the 

134 



Spanish Footsteps 



last of the Popes, and passed by the Lake of 
Como in the day of the Medicean wars, and 
paused at Sorico, where he deposited a colossal 
head of Pompey, taken in the famous sack of 
Rome. He went to Paris. Francesco Calvo of 
Menaggio was an ardent reformer, praised by 
Erasmus of Rotterdam, and made known to 
Luther for his erudition. He distributed the 
writings of Luther, printed at Bale, through the 
Alps. Many illustrious women were suspected 
of cherishing the new opinions, the Duchess of 
Urbino, Julia, Gonzaga, Countess of Fondi, and 
even Vittoria Colonna. 

Beyond that northern gate of Como rose the 
Valtellina and the Grisons. The Valtellina was 
a fine and important province, called fertile at as 
remote a period as when Cassiodorus wrote in 
praise of Como, and coveted, ever, by Milan, 
rival Bishops, and Como. The Grisons formed 
an Etruscan relic in the Alps. The people were 
poor and independent in spirit, building their 
huts among inaccessible rocks. They were 
menaced by the Romans, and then by all 

135 



A World's Shrine 



Europe. The feudal lords, and the bishops 
built castles in the land. This mountain realm 
became one of the chosen asylums of men who 
desired to praise God in their own fashion. Is 
there not an element of the cool air, the scent of 
the pines skirting the ledges, and the icy pinnacles 
of glacier and peak in the thought? Carlyle 
truly said : ** No iron chain, or outward force of 
any kind, can ever compel the soul of man to 
believe, or disbelieve." 

A Protestant is still known in the Grisons as a 
Lutero. The Bible was translated by G. Diodati. 
The Confession of Faith, signed at Coire, April, 
1553, admitted the three Symbols, the Pater- 
noster, the Decalogue, the observance of Sunday, 
the two sacraments of baptism and the com- 
munion. Such was the code of the pastors of 
Rhetia. 

At the close of the nineteenth century man is 
not imprisoned, tortured, or executed for religion. 
He worships or discredits according to his own 
moral convictions. Surely there is a profound 
interest, quite apart from creeds, even in a casual 

136 



Spanish Footsteps 



glance at those of an earlier time who suffered, 
fought, and struggled in spiritual conflict, from 
Rudolph de Salis of Solio, whose tomb records 
that he was driven from his home by human 
machinations, but returned, and died free, to 
Vergerio, the Papal Nuncio in Germany, who 
fled to the Valtellina, humiliated, impoverished, 
and accused of heresy. 

Yonder is the Plain of the Spaniard, with trace of 
the Castle of Fuentes on the ridge, favourite haunt 
of the viper. Joseph II. abolished the fort, and 
Colonel Schreder, the last castellan, cultivated 
mulberry trees around it. The French, with 
five hundred soldiers, in command of General 
Rambaud, in 1796 mined, and blew it up. A 
solid portion of masonry resisted destruction, 
Spanish footsteps ! All national interests stag- 
nated in the administration of the government 
monopolies, and taxes. Manufactories and com- 
merce languished. In Italy work and enterprise, 
artistic, agricultural, and trade had been pro- 
moted by princes and ecclesiastics, in various 
channels, but the Spanish rule exacted a noble 

^37 



A World's Shrine 



indolence. All occupation was derogatory to a 
count or a marquis. The town duties checked 
industry. As a result, the artisans of Como 
migrated to Venice and foreign lands in large 
numbers, just as the Protestants of Locarno 
sought Switzerland, when the brave little land 
opened the door of Uri, Schwyz, Lucerne, Zug, 
Unterwald, Soleure, and Fribourg to such exiles. 
Prosperity was curbed in the valleys of Chiasso, 
Gandino, and Mendrisio in a similar mode. 
Como lamented the reduction of her commerce 
for weavers, dyers, workers in iron and glass 
and woollen fabrics by more than half. The 
Valtellina had a proverb that all riches were dis- 
sipated in five ways : one portion went to the 
princes, one to the ecclesiastics, one to the 
nobility, one to agricultural failure, and one to 
the waters. 

*^ History is little more than the register of the 
crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind," said 
Gibbon. 

Pian di Spagna ! Low-trailing mists of heat 
over stagnant waters, sedgy wastes, and desertion ! 

138 



Spanish Footsteps 



The whole history of Spain, as a foreign ruler, is 
embodied in this dreary picture. Alecto shook 
from her locks her favourite snake to seek the 
wakeful Amata, glide near, seize her cooler 
senses by degrees, in silent insidious venom, and 
sting her to the heart. Alecto was Spain, and 
Amata, Italy. 

The Englishman of the last century is still 
quoted who marvelled that Richelieu expended 
so many soldiers, and so much money to prevent 
Spain from holding such a little country as the 
Valtellina. Lord Chesterfield pronounced the 
traveller a triple idiot not to understand that 
the province furnished the only road to Austria 
and the Tyrol for Spain. 



139 



XIV 

A WITCH 

YOU half believe that she is really a 
witch as you step on shore from the 
boat and first perceive her seated at 
• the door of her house twisting her dis- 
taff. No doubt she rides over the lake on a 
broomstick at midnight. She is clad in rags of a 
sombre tint, and has some sort of drapery — 
shawl or kerchief — gathered over her head. Her 
features are yellow and wrinkled, the glance of 
her eye covert and distrustful, her smile malicious 
and sinister. Craven and superstitious humanity 
may prefer to bid her good-morrow with civility 
rather than arouse her ire by careless rudeness, 
and have her practising dread incantations be- 
hind one's back, with the sticking of pins into 
a wax doll or a sheep's head — a favourite pas- 
time of hags in all countries, apparently. She is 

140 



A Witch 

akin to the crones of the world, a class curiously 
devoid of nationality and country. She might 
be found as readily on an Alpine crag, In the 
woods of Germany or Scandinavia, Great Britain 
and America, as on the Mediterranean shores. In 
the darkest, most tortuous Venetian Calle, and 
Como. In type she Is ever the same. She Is a 
fascinating terror to the youthful mind as a 
bogy of nursery admonitions, and a mysterious 
tool of evil for the unscrupulous of mankind. 
Magical plants spring up about her footsteps : 
nightshade, hellebore, the golden blossom that 
reveals the spot where treasure is burled, the 
flower of the pine to avert bad dreams. She 
gathers fungus of strange growth, and does a little 
trade In amulets and philtres destined to Influence 
the career of the wearer. Her pets are usually 
uncanny of aspect, in the way of black cats, owlets, 
and crippled falcons, readily converted by the 
lively Imagination into familiar spirits. Are 
there not still elder-tree witches, with the hare- 
bell and foxglove especially dedicated to the 
crew, in addition? The mountain ash averts 

141 



A World's Shrine 



lightning, as the first hazel twig cut in the spring 
saves the grain in storms. 

Witchcraft is very ancient. If the Chinese tie 
a red ribbon around the wrist of a child to ward 
off such evil spirits, the Highlanders adopt a sim- 
ilar strip for the tails of their cows. There were 
witches in the time of the Plinys, possibly allied 
in classical days with the astrologers and sooth- 
sayers. Pliny the Younger, Cato, Livy, and 
Tacitus laughed at them and the superstitions 
attached to their magical powers, as well as at 
the ladies and gentlemen who gave credence to 
the interpretation of dreams and portents by 
these oracles. Especial heed was early accorded 
to the devil as a power, combined with a dread 
of haunted houses and credence in phantoms. 
In the Valtellina credit is reputed to be still given 
to rich misers, after death, seeking the Val di 
Togno to dig with a pickaxe and cast down 
stones. All through the land there are fields of 
the witches, as in the Valley of Sementina, near 
Bellinzona, and in the vicinity of Como. Certain 
lonely huts and dismantled ruins near Lugano, 

142 



A Witch 

Locarno, and in the Valtellina are known for 
witches' houses, as they were in the day of Phny. 
The Roman and Lombard laws sought to sup- 
press the folly. The populace inclined to tales 
of the marvellous. Wild and foolish rumours may 
have always been current of the powers of wizard 
folk. This one could cast spells, inspired by love 
or hate, on man, animals, and the flowering crops. 
That one could convert a piece of wood into a 
horse, an ass, a goat, at pleasure. They made 
ointments of rare efficacy, powders of enchant- 
ment, and charms. The chances are these 
boasters wished the palm crossed, gypsy fashion, 
to avert such malign deeds. 

The witch of Como may well be accorded a 
special place in history. Her native hamlet of 
Lezzeno rests in shadow, set deep under the 
wood of San Primo. The sun does not visit the 
locality during the winter. All about the spot 
are rocky ravines and cascades, with Torno to 
the south. The houses are roofed with crumbled 
tiles, the walls are painted white and yellow, with 
blue facings here and there, and connected by 

143 



A World's Shrine 



slimy passages or vaulted archway. The inhab- 
itants of these shady and forbidding haunts seem 
to have early acquired a dark reputation for 
dealing in witchcraft and magic above their 
fellows. 

Is the crone a lineal descendant of the witch 
of Theocritus, or the Libyan sorceress of Virgil, 
versed in supernatural lore? Does a wild and 
even poetical interest attach to her of orgies 
similar to the Walpurgis Night on the Blocks- 
berg, or gatherings around the tree of Benevento? 
Neighbours born on a Friday of March may con- 
sider themselves lucky as thereby placed beyond 
her power. Who knows how many fine ladies 
consult her in their love affairs, and seek some 
more subtle draught of fresh bewitchment where- 
with to ensnare cavaliers than their own beauty? 
In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries these 
old women's fables had a phase of tragedy. 
Spain sought to exterminate heresy and Black 
Art in all her possessions. The Inquisition was 
organised at Como with reference to witchcraft 
as well. Morbid imagination ran riot. The arrows 

144 




■ -W-I 



A Village Street 



A Witch 

of suspicion and detection flew far and wide. 
Poor old women were not the only victims, but 
all classes were struck, by means of bribery, 
terror, and the seizing of property of those 
deemed guilty, as well as the despoiling of the 
heirs of prisoners. The confessions made to the 
Inquisition condemned the wretched culprits, and 
implicated others, according to the authorities 
at Chiavenna, Berbenno, or Mendrisio. The 
most painful absurdities were related of the con- 
demned, of intercourse with the Evil One, trans- 
formations, and conversations with Diana and 
Herodias. (Why were these ladies introduced 
into such society?) The fantasies of the popular 
taste seemed to demand marvels. 

Fra Bernardo Rategno of Como, the zealous 
Inquisitor of 1505, wrote a book entitled *' De 
Strigiis." He stated that the witches met the 
devil, in human form, on the nights before 
Friday to render him homage and express dis- 
respect for the Cross, the Madonna, the Con- 
fessional. "How to discover the witches?" 
demanded Rategno. 

10 lAC 



A World's Shrine 



St. Dominic burned heretics. A bull of Pope 
Pius 11. , dated March, 1493, accused the people 
of Rezzonico of sorcery. The bishops visited 
the surrounding villages in consequence, inter- 
rogated the parishioners, and detected many- 
witches and magicians among them. The Bishop 
Filippo Visconti then had them exorcised. Also 
Piero Antonio Stampa of Chiavenna, curate of 
Delebio, published the Fuga dceinoniim. Five 
persons were burned at Como, and three at 
Lugano. A woman was broken on the wheel 
in 15 19, on the accusation of having killed men, 
women, and children with the unpleasant aim of 
eating them. Hebrews were executed on slight 
pretext. Sixtus V. issued a bull, in 1585, con- 
demning all witches. 

From Pope to Puritan was but a step in the 
excitement of a popular madness infecting many 
lands. Who maketh us to differ in human wis- 
dom? The descendant of a New England judge 
is aware that he condemned several innocent 
women as witches, with firmest conviction in his 
own prejudice of so-called duty as a religious 

146 



A Witch 

citizen, — a crime which he strove to expiate, in 
later years, by fasting and prayer. What was 
the original source of the witchcraft persecution ? 
The wicked smote the innocent, and the pious 
carried out their will, aided by the tumults of the 
crowd. The Jews have suffered expulsion, been 
accused of fearful deeds, and despoiled of their 
possessions as the actual motive. The suppres- 
sion of the order of the Knights Templar, on 
the plea of mysterious idolatry worship, seems 
to have been to seize their property. Who 
knows if the witches of England and America, 
as well as under the espionage of the Inquisition, 
possessed riches coveted by their neighbours, and 
the unjust extortion of the inheritance of the 
widow and orphan, or the old lady of rank, had 
much to do with the burning at the stake, and 
subsequent confiscation of goods? 

The witch of Lezzeno need fear no such fate 
under modern government. She sits at her door 
twirling the distaff through the long summer day. 
A group of young women are washing their 
household linen down on the brink of the water. 

147 



A World's Shrine 



Their voices and laughter rise, from time to 
time, mingled with the song of birds. A matron 
toils up the path with one of the creel-baskets of 
the country on her back, containing a variety of 
articles, such as a bag of meal, an earthenware 
pot, a bundle of clover and grass, a wooden 
bowl and ladle. She exchanges polite greetings, 
and rests her burden on the ledge of wall, plant- 
ing her brown, well-shaped bare feet on the 
ground. 

''How fares it with you, Carlotta?" inquires 
the witch. 

" Eh ! The flour of the devil goes all to bran," 
replies Carlotta, wearily. 

" Pazienza ! You have your boys. Three cords 
make a rope. I am alone." 

Poor body ! Perhaps she is not a witch after 
all, and no more addicted to broomstick-riding 
at midnight than you or I, gentle reader. 



148 



XV 
THE MAGICIANS 

THE whole world belongs to the magi- 
cians, and they, in return, are the 
world's servants. Earth and the at- 
mosphere perpetually yield them 
precious secrets, yet they seek more. Inspired 
by an insatiable curiosity, they peer into the un- 
fathomed mysteries of the universe, and are now 
baffled, and again enlightened by the luminous 
intuitions of their own intellect. Of all men the 
magicians are fashioned in the image of God, for 
their powers are Godlike. At least their Creator 
has sent them forth as his messengers to interpret 
matters hidden to average humanity. To-day 
they solidify the air into a block by means of the 
newly discovered element argon. What will 
they achieve to-morrow? 

149 



A World's Shrine 



One of the number crossed the seas, recently, 
and paused on the shores of Como. All his 
senses, held in acute tension of study, were 
cradled by the soothing repose of the nook. 
Fame was his of modern celebrity, but he 
wore his laurels lightly, and with modesty. He 
was christened by his generation a Paracelsus, 
and in the development of pure magic the Wizard 
of the West. Waking or sleeping he beheld 
ever new realms to conquer, for there is no 
finality to science. A marvellous personality was 
his own. Now he evolved some epoch-making 
problem to help mankind forward, in his labora- 
tory and now he dallied, in childish mood, with a 
fairyland of toys, the whispering box to imprison 
and give back the notes of songs, and words. 
His whims possessed a certain fascination to the 
public in their originality. He was as prone to 
consider the labour-saving broom in " the house- 
hold of Research," a humble Cinderella in the 
manipulation of trifles, as to adhere to the realm 
of purely theoretical philosophy, and the wielding 
of mighty power to move machinery. 

150 



The Magicians 

Como has weather as capricious as the native 
temperament, all smiles, frowns, and tears. 

Thus, as the magician paused on a terrace 
overlooking the lake, the sunshine suddenly 
paled, and the atmosphere grew sultry. With an 
incredible rapidity of transition from tranquillity, 
a wan, grey pallor touched the surface of the 
water and the sky, while a purple gloom deepened 
over the mountains, and filled the ravines. Timid 
folk hid themselves in the depths of chambers 
with closed shutters, and nervous menials 
dropped trays, loaded with bottles, glass, and 
porcelain, causing a resounding clamour. The 
wind moaned fitfully, almost palpable darkness 
descended, and the awful crash of thunder burst 
on the startled, cowering Paradise, succeeded 
by lightning in sheets of fire, forked chains 
athwart the gloom, and hissing serpent tongues. 
Hail roughened the wavelets to mimic billows, 
and whipped the sprays of flowers mercilessly of 
colour and form. Rain in torrents devastated the 
hillside and vineyards in widespread ruin for the 
husbandman. 



A World's Shrine 



The Lake district has kept a dolorous record 
in the annals of centuries of similar disasters, 
when the thunderbolt smote rocks to their foun- 
dations, and lightning shattered venerable trees 
to the core. In an hour the sky might be again 
blue, the sun bright, and the mountain tops 
powdered with freshly fallen snow. Volta wit- 
nessed and noted the result of such a tempest in 
1822. 

The magician looked on with calm front, and 
folded arms. He discerned luminiferous ether in 
the play of the lightning, a conducting medium 
following the lines of force on all sides, a substance 
filling space, and drawn from the twilight of 
Nature's penetralia. This lightning of Como 
seemed to possess a particular significance to the 
visitor. He was prepared for every caprice and 
mockery of which the element is capable. Truly 
electricity moves more rapidly than light or 
sound ; eye and ear may be paralysed before light 
and sound can make an impression on them. 
What course would this primary spirit, malicious, 
bizarre in pranks, clairvoyant or blind as to 

152 



The Magicians 



result, voluntary and mysterious, follow on Como? 
It might shatter a church tower and fall on a 
group of the faithful gathered on the pavement 
below; twist the prongs of the pitchfork into a 
corkscrew shape, carried on the shoulder of a 
peasant; stamp the photograph of an adjacent 
pine-tree on the flesh of the lad killed bird-nesting 
in the poplar; carbonise one man without trace 
of violence to his surroundings, and rend off the 
clothing of another leaving him unscathed. 

**Tell me what electricity is, and I will tell you 
all the rest," mused the magician, in the words 
of Lord Kelvin. 

He entered the skiff of Memory, and traversed 
the lake, borne by the swift current, without need 
of sail or rudder. He sought the tomb of Volta 
at the Villa di Campora. 

Alessandro Volta was born at Como in 1745. 
He belonged to an ancient family. Of four broth- 
ers, a Dominican, an archdeacon, and a canon, his 
father had entered upon the career of a Jesuit, 
when, after eleven years of seclusion, he returned 
to the world, and married Maddalena of the 

153 



A World's Shrine 



noble house of Inzaghi. He founded a new 
family, of three daughters and four sons. Two 
brothers became canons of the Duomo, one a 
Dominican, and the fourth the famous scholar 
Alessandro. Early deprived of paternal care, 
the latter was left in charge of his uncle, the 
archdeacon. He was destined for the law. Volta 
was another example of the boy of genius in- 
tended by a domestic authority for a career 
wholly at variance with a natural bent of instinct. 
Voltaire held that all artists who have attained 
great renown cultivated their powers in opposition 
to their parents, and because nature was stronger 
than education. Moli^re, the young Poquelin, 
was expected to follow his father's trade of 
upholsterer, while paternal wisdom ordained that 
Michelangelo should be a wool-comber, Correggio 
a butcher, Andrea del Sarto, a tailor, Guido Reni, 
a musician, and Salvator Rosa a priest. 

Volta was sent to school, and seems to have 
early developed a lively and insubordinate intel- 
ligence. He had curiosity to fathom natural 
phenomena, and readily surpassed his fellow- 

154 



The Magicians 



pupils in devouring all the works on philosophy 
within his reach. A peasant described a spring 
at Monteverde to the boy, where bits of spar- 
kling gold had been seen. Volta is said to have 
hastened to the spot, and nearly drowned himself 
in clutching the yellow mica which had deceived 
the country folk. He wrote poems in Latin. One 
of eight hundred lines was descriptive of the 
seasons. Another little poem still more betrayed 
his inclinations, as it treated of metals, gun- 
powder, ignis- fatuus , and electricity. He was 
placed in a Jesuit seminary. In vain these new 
preceptors strove to curb his spirit, and even 
forbade him to work on favourite pursuits as mis- 
spent time, in a testy, conventional, school-master 
fashion. The youthful aspirant to fame is re- 
puted to have retorted in a defiant, not to say 
disrespectful manner. The worthy fathers there- 
upon prophesied he would come to no good 
end. He pursued his own course, meditating on 
physics with such enlightenment as the day 
afforded. He experimented with ribbons, rosin, 
pieces of sulphur, and thin staves of wood soaked 

155 



A World's Shrine 



in oil, groping ever to seize an idea of maintain- 
ing electric currents. Benjamin Franklin was 
already described by his contemporaries as a 
Jupiter who had grasped the thunderbolts of 
heaven. Le Monnier discovered that the air is 
always electric. In 1769 Volta wrote a treatise 
'' On the Attractive Force of Electric Fire," and 
in 1775 invented an electrophorus. He became 
a professor of Natural Philosophy at Pavia, and 
retained the post for thirty years. His celebrity 
rests on the discovery of the voltaic pile, an ap- 
paratus which excites a continuous current of 
electricity by contact with different substances. 
Sir John Herschel pronounced it the most won- 
derful of human adaptations in the minute and 
delicate effects obtained through the medium of 
a series of well conducted, and logically combined 
experiments. Volta visited Tuscany in 1774, and 
was received with great honours. Later he met 
Franklin, de Saussure, Chaptal, Vauquelin, La- 
place, De Luc, Banks, Vaumarum, Gilberte, and 
the Emperor Joseph II. He received the Copley 
gold medal at London. In Paris he experimented 

156 



The Magicians 



with his pile before the Institute, and was made 
one of the eight foreign associates in 1802. Beau- 
harnais attached the Legion of Honour to his 
breast, while Bonaparte created him a Count of 
the Italian order. He married a lady of his 
native town, Teresa Pellegrini, and had three sons. 
Most suggestive is the fact that Alexander I. 
invited the savant to Russia; but he preferred 
to remain under the sky of Como. He died in 
March, 1827, at the age of eighty-two years. 

According to Bacon, all the sciences are 
branches of one trunk. We find in the rectifica- 
tion of certain errors in the theory of Galvani, 
made by Volta, the frog of fame, and a little kin- 
dred crew of the first tiny martyrs to science in 
vivisection. The frog naturally takes precedence 
as having hopped — ■ or flopped — into the front 
rank of an unenviable celebrity, from a batrachian 
point of view. Was not this renowned frog made 
to contribute its hind legs, as a delicacy, to the 
invalid broth of Madame Galvani of Bologna, 
whether it would or no? Did not a consequent 
squirming of its members arouse a general inter- 

157 



A World's Shrine 



est of wise heads, if the lady's appetite was not 
impaired? In due time the mouse, the lizard, 
and the sparrow were subjected to dissection in 
search of animal magnetism and electricity. If 
the modern magician, dealing to-day with the 
labours of Helmholtz and Kirchhoff, and the elec- 
tric waves of Heinrich Hertz, pays homage to the 
tomb of Volta at the Villa di Campora, not only 
the shade of the savant welcomes him. Surely 
the spectres of a doleful little procession cross 
his path, and regard him mournfully with wee, 
beady eyes, — the frog of Galvani, the mouse of 
the laboratory, the dejected lizard, and the crest- 
fallen, erewhile saucy, sparrow. These seem to 
pipe, in the name of the whole animal kingdom: 
'' Oh, big and enlightened mortal, how would you 
like it yourself to have your nerve tissues photo- 
graphed and your spinal marrow searchingly 
investigated? " 

Electric globes shine softly on the town of 
Como at night. They are the glowing memory 
of her great son Alessandro Volta. The Centen- 
ary Exhibition of 1899 was a fresh tribute to 

158 



The Magicians 

the early genius, from collections of primitive 
batteries, quaintly suggestive of the past, intricate 
machinery for designing embroideries and silk, 
lithographic printing, metal work, and the moving 
of looms by electricity, to the development of 
locomotion in vehicles and boats on the waters. 
The hand of the magicians still grasps the magic 
sceptre. 



159 



XVI 

"ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE" 

IF Como reminds the visitor of the theatre, 
no place on the shore is as much like arti- 
ficial scenery as the Villa d'Este, with its 
wide marble fagade and portico, gardens 
extending up the hillside, groves of pine and 
cypress, and terrace steps leading to the water, 
with pleasure boats moored beneath the boundary 
wall. 

Verily the paint-pots of the stage carpenter 
and the scenic artist have no cobalt, madder, or 
burnt umber of deeper tints than the ripples 
washing the terrace brink and the parterres and 
flower beds on all sides. One may not be es- 
pecially attracted to the stately mansion shut in 
under the hills, any more than deeply sympathetic 
with the heroine of the spot, yet there is a cer- 

i6o 




o 

(A 
< 

u 

w 
w 

o 



o 



^'All the World ^s a Stage'* 

tain mirage of beauty and unreality in the somno- 
lent hours, heavy with the scents of exotics, 
spent here. 

The knight Lohengrin, clad in shimmering 
armour, should advance to embark in the swan- 
boat in lieu of the brisk traveller, with a red 
guide-book in his hand, just alighted from an 
omnibus at the Hotel de la Reine d'Angleterre. 
The modern Juliet in a lace tea-gown, who 
emerges on a balcony to warn Romeo, seated in 
a garden-chair below, with an illustrated journal, 
that the kettle is boiling, should muse, instead, 
on the advisability of cutting up the young gentle- 
man into little stars and set in the firmament of 
her devotion. 

The Villa d'Este was the residence of Caroline 
of Brunswick for five years. The property orig- 
inally belonged to Cardinal Gallio. 

A drama is here performed in five acts for the 
edification of the casual observer. The leading 
actress is the Princess of Wales, and the audience 
posterity. 

When the curtain rises the scene presents a 
II i6i 



A World's Shrine 



perspective of gardens stretching up the slope, 
with fountains, arbours, grottoes of shell-work, 
and statues placed on pedestals amidst dark 
shrubbery. Princess Caroline appears in the 
distance, and slowly descends the main path, 
pausing to pluck a real flower here and there. 
(One would expect her nosegay to be made of 
muslin and tinsel, even on Como, under the cir- 
cumstances.) The poor lady was considered 
pretty in early youth, with blond hair, and fine 
features, but now her figure has become ball-like, 
and her head appears too large for throat and 
shoulders. At the sight of hearers, however list- 
less and indifferent to her woes this fin de sihle 
audience may be, she bewails her lot, and takes 
all into her confidence without too much tact of 
discretion in the desire to arouse sympathy. 
Alas ! The world is selfish, hard, and, as a rule, 
not at all interested in unhappy heroines, whose 
mood varies from tears to assumed jocularity and 
satire over the wounding slights of enemies. The 
Princess Caroline tells the public all about it in 
her broken English, and Frenchified German. 

162 



"All the World's a Stage" 

Listen ! She, Caroline Amelia Elisabeth, 

daughter of the Duke of Brunswick, left her 
father's court on December thirtieth, 1794, 
attended by her mother and a brilliant retinue, 
to marry Prince George of Wales. She was 
about to make a great match. King George III., 
her uncle, had selected her as bride, while Queen 
Charlotte preferred the beautiful and accomplished 
Louisa, Princess of Mecklenburg, afterwards 
Queen of Prussia. She rested at Hanover, em- 
barked at Cuxhaven on board the "Jupiter "in 
March, 1795, dropped anchor at the Nore, 
reached Gravesend in a fog, and disembarked at 
Greenwich. Here Princess Caroline steps to the 
wing of the tiny stage of Villa d' Este, and the 
scenes shift slowly before the spectator to London 
in the background, panorama-wise. She smiles 
across the footlights, and indicates the triumphs 
of her entry on wedded life. Behold London at 
the dawn of the nineteenth century. The bride 
is driven in the king's coach, with six horses, and 
escorted by the Prince's Regiment of Light 
Dragoons, commanded by Lord Edward Somer- 

163 



A World's Shrine 



set. The equipage crosses Westminster Bridge, 
the mighty sea of populace thronging the ave- 
nues of park and palace. The crowd cheers, and 
the bride smiles and bows. 

The scene changes to the interior of St. James 
Palace. The betrothed couple dine together at 
five o'clock, and make each other's acquaintance. 
According to respectful chroniclers Prince George 
is handsome, accomplished, of polished and grace- 
ful address, versed in ancient languages, conver- 
sant with French, German, and Italian, music, and 
belles lettres. In fact he is '' the happiest mix- 
ture of conscious dignity and unaffected affability." 
After dinner a distinguished group of actors file 
in: King George III., kindly encouraging to his 
new daughter-in-law. Queen Charlotte coolly crit- 
ical in bearing, the royal princesses under their 
august mother's supervision. Prince William, and 
the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester. Her 
Serene Highness approaches the embrasure, and 
makes her little speech in English to the people 
gathered before the palace : 

*' Beheve me I am very happy and delighted 

164 



" All the World 's a Stage " 

to see the good and brave English people — the 
best nation upon earth." 

Is not all this very stagey? The going out on 
the balcony of sovereigns to salute their subjects 
always smacks of the theatre and the appearance 
of the leading actors before the drop-curtain. 

The scene is replaced by another of St. James 
Chapel, where the Archbishop of Canterbury 
waits to perform the marriage ceremony. The 
pageant is of the richest, comprising all the corps 
of the theatre, and nearly of a nation. The pro- 
cession wends across the stage in interminable 
length of state officials, peers, and dignitaries in 
sumptuous robes. Trumpeters and a master of 
ceremonies precede the bride, in her regal coro- 
net, led by the Duke of Clarence, and her train 
borne by four daughters of earls. Next appear 
heralds, officers, the lord chamberlain, and the 
prince, wearing the collar of the Garter, and es- 
corted by the dukes of Bedford and Roxburgh. 
The suite of Their Majesties follow. Knights, 
archbishops, households, the sword of state, borne 
in pomp, surround the monarch. The queen ad- 

165 



A World's Shrine 



vances in turn, accompanied by princesses of the 
blood and ladies. The theatrical wardrobe is 
rifled of velvet, ermine, jewels, gold lace, and 
satin for the occasion. Cannon boom out from 
park and tower, bells ring, and London is illumi- 
nated with myriads of tapers arranged in shapes 
and designs that night in honour of the auspicious 
occasion. 

The curtain falls on this first act, leaving 
Princess Caroline to her reminiscences. The 
audience, posterity, smiles superciliously at the 
idea of town-lighting before the day of gas and 
electricity. 

The second act finds the exile in a sad humour. 
She is seated before her escritoire dabbling in 
that most mischievous of all feminine gifts, letter- 
writing. Like many other women. Princess Caro- 
line wrote too many letters. These light leaflets 
of jest, complaint, satire, justification, and confi- 
dence scattered broadcast from her pen brought 
her a crop of dragon's teeth in the sowing. The 
queen was scandalised at the frankness of her 
stated opinions of those about her, and the cour- 

i66 



'' All the World 's a Stage " 

tiers followed the royal example in seeking a 
pretext of disapproval. Never was bride sur- 
rounded by a greater number of enemies at the 
outset. Lady Jersey, watching in the background, 
was alert to inform the prince that Caroline had 
incautiously gossiped of certain German suitors 
for her hand. The prince sneered readily at his 
consort. The barbed arrow was launched at the 
breast of the bride that he only married at all in 
order to have his debts paid. She is of a high 
descent and a haughty spirit. The bitter cup of 
neglect, humiliation, and a return to earlier favour- 
ites was held to her lips. The king maintained 
his attitude of consideration for his unfortunate 
niece. The queen and the princesses scarcely 
visited her. The courtiers ebbed away, swept by 
the '* besom of expediency." Princess Caroline, 
in her difficult r6le, needed to possess the patience 
of a Griselda and the wisdom of Solomon. She 
had neither qualification in marked degree. She 
belonged to the eccentric House of Brunswick. 

She lays aside her pen, rises, and confronts the 
public, philosophising thus : 

167 



A World's Shrine 



" Suspense is very great bore, but we live 
only de poor beings of de hour, and we ought 
always to try to make us happy so long we 
do live. To tell you God's truth, I have had 
as many vexations as most people, but we must 
make up vous mind to enjoy de good spite of 
de bad, and I mind, now, de last no more 
dan dat." 

She snaps her fingers contemptuously. 

The curtain sweeps down on the second act. 
The audience, posterity, yawns behind its fan, 
and is manifestly bored by the dreary monologue. 

When the little stage is once more visible no 
less a person than ** the first gentleman in Eu- 
rope " steps forward, jauntily, with an eye, not 
on such beauty as may be present, as much as 
the effect produced on the spectators by himself. 
He poses marvellously well, and the rouge on 
his cheeks is artistically adjusted. Domestic 
affairs may jar, and the mob, with primitive ideas 
of conjugal duty, be hostile to him as the heir. 
He has just written an address to the king. He 
gives a brief extract : — 

1 68 



" All the World 's a Stage " 

" I ask to be allowed to display the best energies of 
my character, to shed the last drop of my blood in 
support of Your Majesty's person, crown, and dignity ; 
for this is not a war for empire, glory, or dominion, 
but for existence [1803]. In this contest the lowest 
and humblest of Your Majesty's subjects have been 
called on ; it would little become me, who am the 
first, and who stand at the very footstool of the throne, 
to remain a tame, an idle, and a lifeless spectator of 
the mischiefs which threaten us, unconscious of the 
dangers surrounding us, and indifferent to the conse- 
quences. Hanover is lost ; England is threatened 
with invasion ; Ireland is in rebellion ; Europe is at 
the foot of France. At such a moment the Prince of 
Wales, yielding to none of your servants in zeal and 
devotion, to none of your subjects in duty, none of 
your children in tenderness and affection, presumes to 
approach you to repeat offers of services already 
made." 

The actor toys with the paper complacently. 
What does the audience think of it? Are not 
the periods rather neatly turned? Posterity is 
amazed, even electrified. Can this stately gentle- 
man, inspired by such noble sentiments, be the 

169 



A World's Shrine 



lord of Princess Caroline, the father of young 
Charlotte, the comrade of the Earl of Moira, 
and Admiral Jack Bayne, who keeps his bed until 
three or four o'clock of an afternoon, and other- 
wise sets at defiance the laws of health? 

The heir makes his bow, and quits the boards, 
to become prince regent, in due course of time, 
with the old king stricken mad. 

Act fourth portrays Princess Caroline in melan- 
choly plight. She holds the scene, and describes, 
with volubility, her wrongs to all listeners. A 
separation had long been in contemplation be- 
tween the royal pair. The prince lived at 
Windsor and Carlton House. She had retired 
to Charlton near Blackheath, with her daughter 
the Princess Charlotte, and ladies-in-waiting. 
With the insanity of George III. she must lose 
her only partisan. Her child was taken from 
her for suitable education. Tears and sobs check 
the utterance of the mother at this juncture. 
The poor lady may not be a great actress, but 
she rises to a climax of tragedy. She is, for 
the moment, a Niobe, full of dignity and grandeur 

170 



" All the World 's a Stage " 



before the world. The prince regent found his 

consort an unfit guardian for Charlotte. He 

wished her to live with him. The affront to 

maternal dignity had a double sting. She was 

an unsuitable guardian of the heiress to the 

throne. Still less was he a paternal example to 

youth. The regent had further expressed a 

desire to never meet his wife again, in public or 

private. In 1806 reports injurious to the character 

of the lady were circulated. The chronicler 

hastened to add, "in order to intimidate her." 

Ah ! Princess Caroline may well exclaim with 

Timon : 

" I am sick of this false world, and will love nought 
But even the bare necessities upon 't." 

She retires overwhelmed by chagrin and sor- 
row. Her daughter had been presented at Court, 
and she not admitted to the Drawing-room. 

Then Princess Charlotte trips on the stage for 
a brief moment. She is a blooming maiden of 
eighteen years, endowed with plenty of character. 
There is a trait of frankness and honesty in her 
adherence to her mother. Has not the populace 

171 



A World's Shrine 



admonished her to stand up ibr the injured 
parent? She pouts at her father, defies her 
grandmother, Queen Charlotte, and openly re- 
bels at her governesses. She runs away in a 
hackney coach to pay her mother a visit at 
Connaught House. Princess Caroline is absent 
at Blackheath. Young Charlotte throws her- 
self down petulantly on a couch, and affirms : 

" I would rather earn my own bread, and live 
on five shillings a week, than lead the life I do." 

Then the Archbishop of Canterbury comes to 
fetch the naughty girl home before her mother's 
return. She hangs her head, and goes, to be- 
come a young lady, with a marriage to the Prince 
of Orange in contemplation, and the ultimate 
choice of Leopold of Saxe-Coburg. Defeated, 
and fearing imprisonment, in some form, Princess 
Caroline leaves England for the Continent. 

The audience, posterity, sighs, is moved, ill-at- 
ease, hopes it will soon finish. It must have all 
happened so long ago ! 

In the final act Princess Caroline strolls about 
the gardens of Villa d'Este. She is attired in a 

172 



'' All the World 's a Stage '' 

white robe, and wears on her head a cap of cr^pe 
with lavender bows. This costume is mourning 
for her daughter, Princess Charlotte, whose early 
death surprised the nation. Princess Caroline is 
weary, disillusioned with the paradise where she 
has planted flowers and built roads, after the 
example of such an enterprising lady as Napo- 
leon's sister, Elisa Bonaparte, Queen of Etruria, 
and restless. The exile has dwelt at Naples, 
Genoa, and Pesaro. She has mingled with the 
cosmopolitan society of the Italy of that day. 
She values it little, and wishes that she had never 
abandoned her position in England. She ad- 
vances down the stage. A despatch is presented 
to her by an attendant. The year 1820 has 
dawned and George IV. will be crowned king. 
She raises her head, and pauses at the footlights. 
She will return to England, and claim her right 
of being proclaimed queen. She bids adieu to 
Villa d'Este for ever ! 

The audience, posterity, disperses slowly, pon- 
dering on the sequel to this strange drama, of how 
the king had the name of his consort struck from 

173 



A World's Shrine 



the liturgy. A supreme moment of vindication 
came for Queen Caroline. She arrived at Can- 
terbury, and her journey to London was a 
triumphal one. The populace rallied in her sup- 
port, mobs threatened, flags were hoisted, and 
seditious placards posted. She appeared un- 
daunted before the House of Lords during the 
preparation of the bill of separation. The cor- 
onation took place in July, 1821. The queen 
appeared at the entrance of Westminster Abbey, 
and was refused admittance. The repulse has- 
tened her end. She died in August, and her 
remains were taken to Brunswick at her own 
request. 

The audience, posterity, contemplates these 
problems of history. If the nose of Cleopatra 
had been less symmetrical the face of the earth 
would have been materially modified. If an in- 
flammatory fever had not seized Mirabeau, a 
tile had fallen on Robespierre, or a bullet struck 
Bonaparte, events would have had different re- 
sults. If Louisa of Mecklenburg had married 
George IV. how would the German Empire have 

174 



" All the World 's a Stage " 

been shaped by Bismarck for that fine old gentle- 
man Kaiser Wilhelm to rule over ? If Queen 
Caroline had been more tractable, as wife and 
mother, the fairies would have watched in vain 
around the cradle in 1819, of Victoria Alexan- 
drina, daughter of the Duke of Kent, for the 
Victorian era. 

The curtain falls at Villa d'Este, the lights 
burn dim, and the play, called Life, is over for 
Caroline of Brunswick to all eternity. 



175 



XVII 

A MUSICAL MEMORY 

THE tall and slender form of a priest, 
in a black robe, paced the path bor- 
dered by orange and citron trees. 
The seminarist had come from Rome, 
and his sphere of cloistered studies, at the invita- 
tion of the proprietor long absent in foreign 
lands. Something notable would be expected 
of him in his day, perhaps. His soul of the 
musician was full of half-awakened harmonies. 
His education had taken him back to the date 
when music lay yet in the cradle, awaiting the 
touch of Italy upon her strings, the touch of Ger- 
many upon her keys. The Gregorian Chaunts, 
the themes of Pergolesi, and even the graceful 
imagination of Metastasio had long absorbed 
him. 

1 76 



A Musical Mem 



ory 



With Schleiermacher he believed that religion 
is a music, pervading all our sentiments, thoughts, 
and acts. 

Hedges of bay and ilex framed a belvedere, 
and a tiny amphitheatre of lawn, with an obelisk 
rising in the centre. On all sides of the bound- 
ary the property was embowered in laurel. The 
visitor might find here a sunny garden, a cool 
banquet-hall, and watch the play of the central 
fountain, with antique bronze reliefs, where the 
spray blown by zephyrs rose in a silvery veil, 
aspired to the heights, swayed, and lapsed back 
earthward to repose once more. How many 
have enjoyed this courteous hospitality of gen- 
erations of patrician owners. 

To the seminarist the place was peopled with 
ghosts ; a shadowy company of sweetest sugges- 
tiveness to his own meditations and aspirations. 
All were friendly, and all smiled on him. The 
brotherhood had attained immortality, crossed 
the boundary chasm between life and death, 
climbed to new realms of harmony. Did not 
Beethoven, colossal and profound in thought, 
12 177 



A World's Shrine 



Mozart, melancholy yet majestic, and Mendels- 
sohn, full of power and technical skill, or Wag- 
ner, among the clouds of the great ideal, beckon 
to him to struggle forward in a daring boldness 
of conception of the fugue movement, or, at least, 
to attain sincerity and truthfulness in his work? 
Alas ! would he ever presume to write a sym- 
phony after Beethoven's Ninth, which Wagner 
designated as the last possible emanation of 
music as a separate art? Could he hope to fol- 
low Mozart's Jupiter symphony, or charm the 
ear of his generation by even an echo of Men- 
delssohn's elves and fairies? Still nearer to him 
the composers of the sonata, the fantasia, the 
song, linking together words and melody, of his 
own day, brushed him by an impalpable presence, 
wafted to him, in the fountain's spray, as he 
passed in his walk, in all the manifold phases of 
a subtle language speaking to the human heart; 
Schubert's rich lyrics, Schumann, first of subjec- 
tive romanticists, and Brahms, with his store of 
chamber music. The seminarist folded his arms 
across his breast, and watched the upward puls- 

1 78 



A Musical Memory 



ing of the water jet, absorbed in reverie. Should 
he be a great tone-poet also, capable of maintain- 
ing the fixed relations of separate parts of some 
composition on consecrated themes, the resur- 
rection, the sorrows of Mary, the repentance of 
the Magdalen, passion, gloom, despair, and dawn- 
ing hope in succeeding beatitude woven through 
the tissue of his hopes and fears as timid creator? 
Would the world yet ring with the mystical 
rhythm of his own melodies, flowing forth in 
mighty waves of sound? Must he be fettered 
down, instead, to the routine of a quiet and con- 
scientious student, a humble, unobtrusive disciple 
of these great ones, Hke the priest born on Como 
i^ ^733» who devoted himself to severe study of 
counterpoint and letters? 

He approached the mansion by a colonnade, 
and glanced into a vaulted apartment, with pol- 
ished floor, and frescoed walls. A closed piano- 
forte stood opposite the entrance, and above it 
hung a picture. The work was a copy of Gior- 
gione's trio, with the central figure of the priest, 
his fingers on the keys of the harpsichord, and 

179 



A World's Shrine 



turned to regard the spectator with that wonder- 
ful magnetic expression in the dark eyes, in the 
vital portrayal of which, combined with the warm 
and sanguine tones of living forms, the great 
Venetian ranks alone. 

The Abbe Liszt was once the pervading pres- 
ence here. The mute piano may have responded 
to his touch. Giorgione's musician may have in- 
terrogated him over his shoulder, from the pic- 
ture on the wall. The lake of Como belongs to 
Liszt in the sighing of the wind among the 
cypress trees, the murmur of the fountains, and 
the chiming unison of the church bells. 

The seminarist resumed his walk, and the thread 
of history of his renowned predecessor was un- 
rolled before his wistful contemplation. In the 
shadow of obscurity he reviewed that brilliant 
career. Franz Liszt was born at Raiding in 1811. 
His father Adam Liszt, a Hungarian, was steward 
on the property of Prince Esterhazy. His mother 
was an Austrian of modest origin. The person- 
ality of these two otherwise obscure parents has 
been curiously conspicuous in the century be- 

180 



A Musical Memory 



cause of the lustre shed upon them by their illus- 
trious son, Adam Liszt, the narrow, self-contained 
man, endowed with the artistic temperament, who 
had made himself familiar with all keyed instru- 
ments as well as the violin and flute, was the 
guardian of a prodigy, severe in discipline, and 
putting some method into the routine of genius, 
which would be sadly lacking deprived of such a 
mentor. The mother, gentle and mild, safe ref- 
uge of juvenile affection and caprices, coming to 
Paris ultimately, to furnish key-notes, in the 
midst of great events, of the varied development 
of her son under these influences. Between the 
sober couple stood that graceful genius the child, 
with his blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, sym- 
pathetic features, and tall and slender form, who 
won the interest and admiration of all people by 
his own noble Magyar nature. 

On the shores of Como the fountain jet rose in 
the warm summer air of evening, tinged from a 
shaft of snowy vapour to an exquisite flush of pink 
in the last rays of sunshine, and the church bells 
began to peal forth the Angelus from every height 

i8i 



A World's Shrine 



and inlet. The tinkling note of some chapel 
hidden far up among the mountains told of the 
childhood of Liszt. Sensitive by temperament, 
and excitable to all impressions, the lad was 
swayed to visions of the guardian angels in the 
distant bell of the village church. Adam Liszt, 
carrying a lantern, led his family along the dark 
country road, at the hour of the midnight mass 
of Christmas, to the sanctuary, where his son was 
dazzled by the organ, the lighted altar, and the 
priests, clad in gorgeous vestments, moving about 
amidst clouds of incense. 

Other chapels in the enfolding gorges caught 
up, and echoed back the memory of the Bohe- 
mians, the swarthy sons of Pusta, who encamped 
around Raiding, and held the boy spellbound by 
their weird and fantastic songs and dances ; the 
languid Lassan, and the agile Frischas. 

The linked chain of melody was woven on 
along the crags from Val Sanagra to San Fedele 
and Osteno, or Val Sassina to Val di Varrone 
and Dervio, ringing still the refrain of this remark- 
able childhood. Liszt was taken to Vienna by 

182 



A Musical Memory 



his father, and studied with Czerny and Salieri. 

In 1823 Anton Schindler, the faithful secretary of 

Beethoven, who deplored that the latter's genius 

was buried in pianoforte compositions, lured the 

great master to attend the concert given by Liszt 

at the Redoute. The boy, eleven years of age, 

attractive and animated, was only inspired to 

fresh effort under the eye of Beethoven, and 

played Hummel's Concerto in B flat, with a '* free 

fantasia " afterward. Then Beethoven ascended 

the platform, and kissed the prodigy amidst the 

responsive enthusiasm of a vast multitude of an 
audience. 

The evening bells of Como still sing this meed 
of praise. 

Liszt went to Paris and London. Ladies petted 
him, and the world caressed him for his preco- 
cious talents. The fitful swelling forth and dying 
away of the Angelus is not more wayward than 
was the whimsical course of youth, now swept to 
a morbid prostration of shattered health, taking 
the phase of religious mysticism in a desire to 
flee from society and become a priest, sternly 

183 



A World's Shrine 



checked by his father, and again swaying back 
from inertia to energetic study, under Anton 
Reicha, of counterpoint and all systems of poly- 
phony composition for several voices, the glee 
form and the fugue, single and double. He 
grasped the mysteries of the problematical canons 
and the canon cancrizans of the early masters. 
He aspired to the practice of counterpoint in 
such perfection of the composer as a virtuoso 
deems indispensable in finger drilling. The 
evening bells of Como, interpreted by him, 
alone, in his prime of years of pilgrimage, gath- 
ered volume of sound in the hamlets. 

Liszt, finding in France a second fatherland, 
met poets, savants, and artists, was the friend of 
Berlioz and Chopin, even if snubbed by Cheru- 
bini on the attempt to enter the Paris Conserva- 
toire, and pouted at by Heine. He had the 
noble aim ever before him of making a world 
acquainted with Beethoven that knew him not. 
He passed through the first subtle phase of sen- 
timent by falling in love with a young French 
lady, his pupil. The omission to bribe the porter 

184 



A Musical Memory 



at the door of the paternal mansion with a five- 
franc piece is supposed to have changed the 
whole course of the musician's life. Separated 
from this ideal of his choice, he was plunged into 
an abyss of dejection and despair, from which he 
was aroused, and his Hungarian blood fired, by 
the tocsin of the Revolution of July, 1830. He 
sketched his Symphonie Revolutionnah^e , which 
was never completed. The work was divided 
into three parts: the first a Sclavonic theme, a 
Hussite song of the fifteenth century; second, a 
fantasia on the German anthem Eine feste Burg 
ist unser Gott ; and third, the Marseillaise. He 
wrote : " Gods and kings are no more ; God 
alone remains forever, and the nations of the 
earth have shaken off the yoke." He turned to 
study with sudden and intense ardour of self- 
education. He was deficient in the early training 
of commonplace humanity. French was his 
natural language of polished grace in aristocratic 
circles, while he is reputed to have spoken Ger- 
man with dif^culty, and his tongue to have fal- 
tered altogether in his native Magyar. He was 

185 



A World's Shrine 



accused of belonging to the politico-religious 
body of the Saint-Simonians. He was pro- 
foundly influenced by the celebrated Lamennais. 

The climax in the career of Liszt was assuredly 
when he heard the wizard of sound, Paganini, 
perform in Paris in 1831. He resolved to master 
the pianoforte as the Italian virtuoso had mastered 
the violin. The theory of the future development 
of harmonious progress and connection of sounds 
dawned upon him. The final aim of both tone 
and harmony should consist of an increased ap- 
proximation of all tones, and of all keys. Thus 
reasoned Liszt, an innovator, yet not wholly free 
from classical discipline. Paganini, as a violinist, 
revealed to him a new mode of technicalities for 
the piano, and the beautiful within the limits of 
subjective lyric sweetness. 

The seminarist again approached the vaulted 
apartment, entered, opened the piano, and ran 
his fingers over the keys. The instrument gave 
forth the weak sounds of thin strings in the limited 
resources of the date of manufacture ; an im- 
provement on the eighteenth century and earlier 

186 



A Musical Memory 



portion of the nineteenth, when Mozart, Haydn, 
Clementi, or Dussek failed to produce miajices of 
expression, the loud and soft phases of pedals 
being especially ineffective, and the quality of 
tone only light and smooth, yet was notably in- 
ferior to the modern grand. The intruder with- 
drew his hands abruptly from the keyboard. The 
bells gathered melody from all the lower towns 
of the lake shores, and floated through the man- 
sion. They told of how Liszt gained deepest 
knowledge of his art, rendered all instrumentation 
rich and profuse in colouring, brought out new 
and magical effects by transposition of the prin- 
cipal themes and original side-themes. With him 
counterpoint weaving of the voice was treated in 
harmonious masses, melody and accompaniment 
moved with equal power of tone, single parts dis- 
appeared and were merged in general harmony, 
execution rose to the dramatic, emotion and 
depth of expression reached perfection. In the 
words of a critic of his time : " He saw in all 
branches of art, and especially in music, a refrac- 
tion and a reflection of universal ideas, as in God's 

187 



A World's Shrine 



universe. He is the most poetically complete 
whole of all the impressions he has received." 

The praise of the united peal of the Angelus 
is of Liszt as a church composer. He gave to 
the world the Christus Oratorium, and the legend 
of Saint Elisabeth of Hungary. 

Then a deep note welled forth from the Cam- 
panile of the Como Cathedral, in the distance, as 
the final stroke of this hymn to the closing day : 

" His gifts were divine, but let us chant of his traits, 
as a man and a Hungarian, in his generous recognition 
of the talents of others, his charity, and his patient 
kindness of encouragement to timid young aspirants. 
Verily, such good deeds ring clear through heaven 
like a bell." 

The priest resumed his restless walk. When 
he regained the house, twilight had already taken 
possession of the vaulted apartment, and only 
the olive face of Giorgione's musician glowed in 
the darkening canvas of the picture on the wall. 

"Why do you question me with your glance 
when Franz Liszt has already been here?" he 
demanded aloud. 

1 88 



XVIII 

A FISHERMAN 

THE Como fisherman is an ancient man, 
withered and brown. He should be 
accorded a unique place in the history 
of humanity by the great world hur- 
rying past his nook in battalions and armies. His 
career reminds one of the three wiseacres of 
Gotham who put out to sea in a wash-bowl, 
according to the nursery rhyme. He occupies 
the very tiniest sphere, yet is he kin to the 
bronzed sons of ocean of all coasts. Compared 
with his field of labour, the other lakes, Maggiore, 
Garda, or Lugano, have a vast horizon. He is 
entitled to a momentary consideration from the 
curious fact that, while the natives of many lands, 
both gentle and simple, may fish for minnows in 
a brook, either as a pastime or to supply the 
cottage larder with additional food, for him the 

189 



A World's Shrine 



calling is a profession, followed by himself and 
his father before him, on this small, inland sheet 
of water. How wee and droll seem his ambitions 
as appertaining to the water populations of the 
earth, the African streams of mighty volume, the 
American network of rivers, with their tributaries, 
and the lakes with navigable stretches of rough 
billows out of sight of shores. 

He lives on the side of Varenna, near the foam- 
ing cascade of the Fiuine di Latte, where the 
torrent thaws in the spring, when the ice and 
snow begin to melt on the mountains above, 
winter having made the nymph of the spot a 
mute prisoner in crystal fetters for long months 
of cold in a cavern of the draughty hollow. 

In the matter of living he is not better placed 
than the poor peasants of the Valtellina, with 
one room, smoky from the hearth in the middle 
of the floor, and the drying of chestnuts, at times, 
no chimney, a bed of straw on one side where 
sleeps the entire family, the passage way, a 
stable, and for protection against the wind a 
tattered cloth, the lamp a firebrand. On a festa 

190 



A Fisherman 



the coarse, brown bread of daily fare is mixed 
with nuts divided in halves. For the rest this 
humble population subsists on the harvest of 
rivers and lakes, the fish and mollusks. 

The fisherman's hovel is like those described 
by Virgil and Theocritus. He shares all with a 
comrade, a partner, as old as himself. Their 
couch is scarcely more than the classical rushes 
spread on the ground, with a bundle of dried 
leaves for a pillow. Nets of fine mesh and 
tackle are collected beneath the roof, fish-hooks 
attached to white horse-hair lines, poles, and 
baskets, osier-work for stakes and palisades 
in shallows. Poverty has set her seal on the 
premises. 

Go to sea if you wish to fish, says the proverb. 
How is our ancient fisherman of Como to reach 
the sea? He haunts the side of Lecco by prefer- 
ence, where the river Adda, after a turbulent 
course down through the Valtellina range stirs 
the depths of Como, and flows out near the 
town of Lecco, then sweeps down to join the Po 
near Cremona. Hope is ever verdant, according 

191 



A World's Shrine 



to another proverb. Why should not river Adda, 
as a natural gateway, bring to our fisherman 
riches, as well as a finny host enter Lugano in 
May, coming from the sea by way of the Ticino, 
Lake Maggiore, and the Tresa, when a party of 
men, on dark nights, light torches of leaves and 
straw, draw up their barge near shore, jump over- 
board to form a chain, and drive their prey to 
land, attracted by the fire, beating the surface of 
the water with oars ? He patiently follows the 
migrations from one end of Como to the other 
of the palatable little fish of the herring species, 
the agoni. He could count on his brown fingers, 
if in boastful mood, the number of fine trout 
ever caught by him in younger days. He waits 
and hopes in his chances of good luck, while 
his boat rocks gently on the current. Who knows 
if there are fabulous creatures, half-monster and 
half-merman in the depths of the lake, such as 
the ancients believed in? The ledges are treach- 
erous, and bodies of the drowned seldom re- 
covered here. What fright if one of these shapes 
got entangled in the net sometime ! In the 

192 



A Fisherman 



meanwhile the years pass, and the boat rocks 
gently on the current, and the nets are often 
empty. Oh, that the lamprey of Crassus, or a 
sleek carp would rise to the hook of the ancient 
fisherman ! He imagines he discerns strange 
forms down in the clear waters, such as the 
filmy, indeterminate polypus, the little fish of 
the Latins, the remora, capable of magically 
retarding the progress of vessels, some species 
of the cramp fish that benumbs the members if 
handled, or a modern cousin of the scarus, set 
free by kindred when the angler's hook has been 
swallowed. What if one dredged up some deli- 
cate morsel, like the naker, with a tiny lobster 
serving as porter at the door of the shell to watch 
for food? There is ever the gateway of river 
Adda for a shoal to approach, moving in a cube, 
after the manner of the tunnies, and fill his boat 
to overflowing, like the miracles of sacred history. 
He dreams of fearful adventures on stormy winter 
nights, when the wind makes havoc among the 
trees and the lake is lashed into foam. He is 
more apt to capture in his sleep the golden prize 
13 193 



A World's Shrine 



of all fishermen, the magical haul which will assure 
fortune and ease for the remainder of life. 

We are all Como fishermen, in some wise, 
casting our line into the lake of endless possibilities 
to catch the fish with golden scales of happiness 
or fortune. Alas ! Our net too often remains 
empty, and the artfully baited hook does not 
tempt the trophy. Then we return landward at 
evening, weary and disheartened, to sleep on the 
rushes and pillow of dried leaves of bitter disap- 
pointment, hoping for better success to-morrow. 

" To-morrow and to-morrow, 
Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player, 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage." 

Vaironi of Lugano, tiny Agoni {cyprinus lari- 
ensis) of the Castle of Grato and Antiseto shore 
of Lecco, bearded mullet of the ponds of Lucul- 
lus and Hortensius, or golden fish of dreams of 
Virgil and Theocritus ; humanity is ever alert to 
grasp the elusive prize. 



194 



XIX 
THE HUMAN KEY-STONE 

THE most interesting personality as a 
visitor to the shores of Como is the 
young northern architect, Saxon or 
Teuton. To the indifferent, casual 
observer he is a sympathetic character, modest, 
intelligent, and imbued with energy and enthu- 
siasm to excel in his profession. 

He makes his first Wanderjahre of the student 
in the spirit of an enjoyable vacation, and also 
to seek certain towns and localities, shrines of the 
different schools incorporated in the requirements 
of his calling. His sketch-book, which he carries 
in lieu of a traveller's diary, abounds speedily 
with such drawings as the transept of the Amiens 
Cathedral, the south portal of the Cologne Dom, 
a western tower of Spires, or the Strasbourg choir 
and crypt. He strives in his pilgrimage every- 

195 



A World's Shrine 



where to gain the education of tracing the age 
and history of the edifice, in its manifold adapta- 
tion of usefulness. Italy, the siren, awaits him 
beyond the northern mountain gate of Como. 
He arrives, armed with all possible sobriety of 
judgment as to the true standards of art in con- 
tradistinction with the meretricious and false. 
Italy smiles and prepares to cajole him out of all 
practical reason by the touch of golden sunshine 
on her palaces, the snowy purity of moonlight on 
the ornate fagade of temples, the mellow lustre 
of alabaster shaft, many-tinted marble column, 
and wall, brick and stucco. He is perplexed, 
delighted, and charmed, all in the same hour of 
his journeyings through the land. In conscien- 
tious parlance, he is the human key-stone that 
must uphold the fabric of honest and noble work 
in his time. A factor of modern life, he has re- 
ceived the training in instruction of sweeping 
away obstructions, and establishing wide avenues 
leading to some central, vast pile of buildings, 
thus affording a magnificent coup d'ceil of dis- 
tant effect. None the less is he prepared to in- 

196 



The Human Key-Stone 



spect with reverence man's work of the past, the 
mysteries of intricacy in shelter of mediaevalism, 
the screens, and shadowy aisles, and external 
close-grouping. Also he is alert to discern, in 
the first examples which meet his eye of classical 
architecture, the suggestion of the idea of rest in 
lintel and impost, as the Gothic arch and flying 
buttress do life and motion. He already antici- 
pates Roman and Romanesque architecture of 
the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in all sim- 
plicity and breadth of effect. He has traversed 
one of the passes on foot, knapsack on back and 
staff in hand, and descending from Chiavenna, 
reaches the crystal gate of Lake Como, framed 
by those surroundings of richly clothed hills. 
His dream of beauty is realised ! He is south of 
the Alps at last ! 

As he gazes on the scene the lake changes 
with the hues of the passing hours, deepening to 
amber reflections and flame, the dark cypress 
trees mark a sharp and tapering outline amidst 
softer masses of verdure, and the campanili are 
mirrored in the surface, one by one, with the 

197 



A World's Shrine 



bells hanging mute in the belfry windows, of 
which the wheels project far beyond the Hne of 
wall. The Basilica and Baptistery of Gravedona 
arrest his progress for a moment. He explores 
the stair-turrets in the wall, the triforium with 
seven arches on each side, chancel, and apsidal 
recesses roofed. He worships at the altar, not of 
the Como Cathedral as readily as the Broletto 
flanking it with arcaded corbels and knotted 
shafts. Like old Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, who loved 
all connected with art, and painted banners for 
religious processions, the standards set up at 
tournaments, and worked in mosaic, the young 
architect admires in cloister and humble sanc- 
tuary of the enfolding slopes some treasure in the 
shape of a chalice, enriched with blue and white 
enamels, and figures on stem and foot, or cross 
of silver filigree, niello^ and turquoise. 

Italy, the siren, sends forth her emissaries to 
the Como gate to receive this Northern child who 
should have been her son. These obey, accus- 
tomed to such missions of welcome to the stranger 
through all the centuries. Does the architect 

198 



The Human Key-Stone 



pause over these treasures? Lo ! the silver car- 
vers and engravers flock about him from every 
side. Francesco Salviati, having been a gold- 
smith, and worker in tarsia, would fain show 
him how he came to the casting of small bronze 
figures and painting. 

'' Bid your modern jewellers despair when they 
inspect the labours of our day," quoth Benvenuto 
Cellini, fitting lapis-lazuli into a cruet-stand. 
'* Look at our votive images of saints, medals, 
and the niello, or inlaid modelling-work of house- 
hold furniture, sacred vessels, cups, vases, and 
cabinets which I tried to revive in my time. Con- 
sider the silver palliotto of the cathedral of Pis- 
toja, — the paxes cut with marvellous accuracy 
by Pollaiuolo and Maso Finiguerra." 

'' True," assents the architect, musingly. The 
suit of armour, hanging limp on the wall of a 
museum acquires a deeper significance to him 
than the collections of weapons elsewhere. Those 
mighty men of valour the ancient Gauls and Ro- 
mans, with thew and sinew of a different fibre 
surely from the human muscle as now devel- 

199 



A World's Shrine 



oped, habitually wore heavy armour, and wielded 
morion, shield, and corselet as easily as their own 
limbs. Did not the Roman soldiery in the Span- 
ish campaigns jeer at the Lacedemonians for 
indulging in the luxury of sleeping beneath a 
house roof when opportunity offered, instead of 
the open heavens, so inured were they to hard- 
ship? The Medes at the front of Tigranes' army, 
wore such weighty coverings that they were like 
prisoners in irons. The Parthians, on the con- 
trary, had flexible mail which fell in scallops, as 
feathers fold together, yet capable of resistance 
to darts, while their horses were protected by 
leather hides. 

" Link by link the coat of mail is made," so- 
liloquises the architect, touching the embossed 
cuirass. 

'' This one might have been wrought by Leone 
Leoni, who executed a statue of the Emperor 
Charles V., and invested it with a suit of armour 
which could be easily taken off. The skill of 
Girolamo del Prato was here discernible, with 
equal probability, — that Girolamo who worked in 

200 



The Human Key-Stone 



tarsia, inlaid metals with steel, gold, and silver, 
after the fashion of Damascus, and beat plates 
with a mallet into flexible shapes, until he 
achieved an entire suit of mail for a foot-soldier 
of Duke Alessandro de' Medici." 

The architect thus roams through northern 
Italy, his footsteps taking him where the arts 
followed Goth and Longobard rule from Ravenna 
to Monza and Pavia in the friezes of monsters 
and animals, coarsely executed, the rude bas- 
si-relievi, the capitals of pillars, as well as the 
celebrated altar-piece of San Ambrogio at Milan. 
Lombard doorways, piers, open porches, the 
tracery and moulding of trefoil ornament, string 
courses, voussoirs of stone, abaci of brick, the 
use of red, white, and grey marble together, and 
the fourteenth-century terra-cotta cusps of arches 
detain him. The Byzantine school, and those of 
Bologna, Florence, and Rome, in local styles, are 
open to him. The architects and sculptors take 
him by the hand to show him their task accom- 
plished, Sansovino, Bramante, or Primaticcio. 
Giovan-Francesco Rustici invites him to supper 

20I 



A World's Shrine 



■ — at least in the annals of Vasari — in company 
of the society of the Caldron, or of the Trowel. 
The guests follow Ceres to the infernal regions, 
in quest of her daughter Proserpine, to be served 
with lizards, frogs, newts, toads, snakes, and 
gigantic spiders, by demons armed with toasting- 
forks, which dishes prove delicate pastry, meats, 
and confectionery. Giovanni da Udine familiar- 
ises the visitor with the birds and musical in- 
struments in which he excelled, and explains 
how stucco decoration, such as the vaulting of 
the Papal Loggie, and the arches of upper trib- 
unes, can be attained by means of gypsum, 
chalk, Greek pitch, wax, and pounded brick, 
then gilded, if one has studied the grottesche in 
very low relief discovered in the palace of Titus, 
in all their beauty, freshness, and profound 
knowledge of design, under the master Raf- 
faello. Montorsoli eagerly displays his fountain 
at Messina. 

Italy, the siren, cajoles and charms sober 
judgment. 

Behold the Italian Gothic, which did not resort 

202 



The Human Key-Stone 



to the buttress shaft, cusped on the under side to 
overcome all difficulties, and produce the trefoil 
arch. Behold the cornice crowning the summit 
of walls, campanili, porches, and running up 
gables, the mellow tones of brickwork and stone 
in church and shafted cloister. Is not the result 
sometimes gained by audacity, seeming careless- 
ness and indolence, even, in breaking standard 
rules of harmony to serve the aim of the moment, 
fair enough, surrounded by the beauty of the land 
and crystallised by the purity of climate? If he 
visits the tombs of the Scaligers at Verona a 
market is held at the base, with awnings and 
cotton umbrellas spread over heaps of fruit and 
vegetables. If he lingers near the Lucca monu- 
ments, sculptured, inlaid, and diapered in precious 
marbles, a local festa of a Saint's day lends life 
and animation to the scene. The Tuscan spring- 
time has such elements for his eye as, when con- 
templating the vast pile of the Florence Duomo, 
the funeral procession of an archbishop wends 
about the temple, with banners, gilded crosses, 
gold and velvet canopies, tapers, and white-robed 

203 



A World's Shrine 



priests. The balcony, with moulded beams, and 
groining in transverse, and diagonal ribs of an 
ancient castle, half farmhouse in decay, and adja- 
cent doorway with traces of fresco in the tympa- 
num, which he transfers to his sketch-book, 
standing on the other side of the paved way of a 
little hamlet, holds beauty, radiant, softly tinted, 
smiling; the woman at the window who is the 
bunch of grapes of the roadside, to quote the 
national proverb. His casement studies, wheels 
divided by shafts and little columns, set in blocks 
of stone, with plate tracery, or having terra-cotta 
capitals, are sadly interfered with by the charming 
heads of youth, in all types of blonde and bru- 
nette, peeping out at him, roguishly, a snatch of 
song on the lips : 

" Now blessings on Matteo's kindly art! 
He 's made a window after my own heart; 
He has not made it me too low nor high, 
And so I see my love when he goes by." 

" Return when your Northern skies are dull, and 

all the colour of sunshine you know comes through 

the painted glass of your Cathedrals," mocks 

Italy. 

204 



The Human Key-Stone 



** We always return," sighs the architect. 

Once more Como towers are mirrored in the 
tranquil waters, and the bells hang mute, as he 
takes his way over the mountain pass. Every- 
where he encounters the human key-stone on his 
route, the manhood of fair seeming that will 
crumble at the first shock of adversity, the spe- 
cious gilded stucco presented to the world's gaze 
of Giovanni da Udine or the solid foundations of 
honesty of the great Masters. Time, the Archi- 
tect, will also test this disciple as he takes up 
his career, whether he designs the sky in his 
dome, the rocks for columns, or wreathes his 
cornices and capitals with decorations of olive, 
laurel, and acanthus leaves. 



205 



THE SEASONS 

I 

WINTER 



XX 

A PATRIARCHAL VILLA 

THE villa was small and modest, with 
a tiny garden surrounded by a high 
wall on either side, and a boat moored 
at the flight of steps. Situated on a 
bay of the western bank, the hill rises in an 
overhanging cliff in the rear, with paths winding 
among the olive trees to the heights. The place 
was not only unpretentious in comparison with 
the castellated and ornate surburban palaces of 
the vicinity, but bore evidence of age in the 
fading tones of the painted walls, narrow embra- 
sures, and dilapidated roof and cornice. Such 
as it was the villa represented a little paradise to 
the owner, and was endeared by many associa- 
tions. Not for any consideration would he have 
spent the late autumn and early winter in any 
other spot. 

14 209 



A World's Shrine 



The habitation, in its severe simplicity, might 

have reminded the visitor of the retreat of Gallus, 

whose house came within the span of the shelter 

of a single pine tree, while the thatch of the roof 

covered only one story. Like this Roman 

prototype, the Como retreat sufficed for the 

inmate's villeggiatura if one guest partook with 

him of the fruit of the vine, the lupin which 

flourished in his garden patch, and the loaf of 

bread baked in the domestic oven. Was this 

little? Gallus demanded no greater luxury. 

Even more was the proprietor like Tranquillus, 

who sought his country property in the autumn, 

far from Rome, where the course of life flowed 

smoothly and monotonously. In the present 

case Gallus and Tranquillus have their typical 

representative in the Lombard gentleman. He 

was a noble by birth, and his family had tenanted 

the land of Como for centuries, numbering 

prelates, poets, historians, and statesmen in the 

ranks. He was a stanch patriot in all public 

interests, but he was first a Lombard before an 

Italian, speaking the local dialect by preference. 

210 



A Patriarchal Villa 



He resided in the brilliant capital of Milan in 
bachelor quarters scarcely less restricted than 
the rural home, and supplemented the shrunken 
fortunes of his race by filling a government office. 
He mingled in polished circles, and was a 
dilettante in art and music. He belonged to 
clubs and literary societies, which furnish the 
modern equivalent of the mediaeval Academy 
della Crusca of Florence, the Noctes Vaticanae of 
Rome, the Men of Virtue and Fame, or the 
Vineyard, the Cask, the Frogs, and the Eels of 
other towns, where members wrangled, and dis- 
cussed the merits of contemporaries, possibly 
with as much perspicacity as Petrarch and Tasso 
were criticised in their day. The guest of the 
Como villa might be a famous savant, a sculptor 
of renown, an improvisator of graceful wit, or a 
popular actor. 

Several cabinets and coffers of antique wood- 
carving, Venetian and Tuscan, contained the 
treasures of plate and porcelain of the mansion ; 
portraits of ancestors, time-stained and dilapi- 
dated, adorned the interior. The ample person- 

211 



A World's Shrine 



ality of a bishop, reputed to have wielded two 
pens, one of iron, and one of gold, to please his 
patrons the Pope Leo X. and Clement VII., 
seemed to listen to the conversation that tran- 
siently animated the desertion of the Patriarchal 
Villa. A courtier, in a velvet doublet, who found 
favour with Francis I. and Charles V. in his time, 
smiled at the sallies of a modern diplomatist, 
while a poet who attended the Council of Trent 
slightly frowned at a Latin quotation made glibly 
by a clever journalist. For living audience the 
old domestic Antonio, given charge of the 
premises, as a sort of honourable retirement from 
active duties, also listened in serving the supper, 
with keen and intelligent appreciation of the 
topics discussed. He gossiped with the gardener 
of the next property, indicating the visitor of 
the date with a jerk of the thumb over his 
shoulder. 

'* Eh ! he talks like a printed book, an oracle, 
an old man. You should have heard him last 
evening." 

The Lombard gentleman had firm faith in the 

212 



A Patriarchal Villa 



soothing and recuperative virtues of native air. 
His fountain of Egeria to ward off decrepitude in 
advancing years was a daily bath in the trans- 
parent waters of the lake ; to climb the hillside 
and ramble through the vineyards ; and to labour 
in his little garden, fostering and experimenting 
on rare plants. The enclosure boasted palms, 
Chinese pines, camellias, and roses that braved 
the winter, sheltered by the wall. An amateur 
horticulturist, full of zeal on his holiday, he had 
cultivated robinia, catalpa, acacia, and bignonia 
successfully. Floral triumphs might yet be in 
store for him with a minister of agriculture in the 
perfecting of chrysanthemums to balls of snow or 
tufts of copper plumes, orchids of eccentric con- 
volutions of growth and bloom, and tawny or 
vivid emerald depths, gigantic violets of marvel- 
lous sweetness, and double heartease in rich tones 
of velvety purple and amethyst. 

When he arrived, the old Antonio said to the 
neighbours : 

" The master is as dry as a herring, after the 
town, and yellow as a pumpkin, as saffron, or the 

213 



A World's Shrine 



gold of a zechin. You will see what the villeg- 
giatura does for his health." 

Autumn winds blew away the dried leaves, and 
the old Gallus found a tonic to his blood in the 
frosty morning air, even if the hearth at evening 
required to be heaped with the resinous wood 
that emitted a fragrant smoke. The ground was 
ploughed and sown for the winter grain. Then 
came December, crisp and sparkling, and with 
the opening of January a new phase of splendour 
to the lake world. Colour does not appertain to 
summer alone in this realm. The water has deep 
tints of malachite green shading to cold, steely 
blue reflections, the peaks are dazzling citadels 
of fresh snow on a clear sky, and the intervening 
hills one solid bloom of mingled hues, robbed of 
the veil of soft, atmospheric haze of heat. All 
day that rampart of Spliigen and Stelvio range is 
a field for the kaleidoscopic play of light and 
shadow, swept by the tramontanOy pale amber 
and opal in the early rays of the sun, resplendent 
in deeper gold, with glistening crags of glacier 
revealed in the sombre gulf of descending preci- 

214 



A Patriarchal Villa 



pices, and masses of ice formed about every 
cavern fissure of lower slopes, blanched to chalky 
whiteness at noon, and gathering again all the 
fleeting changes of the setting sun in a transient 
glow of rose and crimson, until quenched to wan 
and spectral sentinels, wrapped in majestic dra- 
peries of winter beneath the stars. Frost had 
stiffened the palm fronds so that they rattled in 
the wind with a brittle sound, the olives acquired 
a tint of aqua marine, and the blackened berries 
sparkled with frozen water-drops as if enclosed in 
crystal. In the tiny garden the stems of certain 
plants gleamed like branches of coral, icicles 
hung about the fountain basin, and a misty thaw 
on leaf and branch made Httle diamond and topaz 
filaments of fringes. 

The Lombard had witnessed the great drama 
of the sunrise, when Phoebus saluted Eos, the 
Dawn. His last guest was the Piedmontese, and 
they had gone forth among the hills, with guns 
slung over the shoulder in pursuit of the hare. 
In the evening they paused in the garden to con- 
template the amphitheatre of mountains. The 

215 



A World's Shrine 



Piedmontese repeated slowly the poem of Queen 
Margherita to the Madonna of the Snows for the 
soldiers in peril on the Alps : — 

" O Virgin Mother of God, invoked by the moun- 
taineer as the Madonna of the eternal snows ! O Lady 
of the high mountains, turn your gaze towards the 
white expanse that seems a portion of your veil in 
purity, so immaculate is it, and mitigate the horrors of 
the route to those in danger." 

Then the proprietor of the patriarchal villa re- 
turned to town life. Antonio limped about the 
premises closing shutters and chambers once 
more. 

" The master goes back as plump as a thrush, 
a beccaficoy an ortolan," quoth the old servant. 



216 



THE SEASONS 

II 
SPRING 



XXI 

BLOSSOMS 

THE artist came with the earliest flush 
of spring that tinged the foHage and 
grassy banks of Como. She was no 
radiant Flora, with flowing tresses 
and gossamer draperies, her basket filled with 
violets, primrose, and daffodil, but a plain woman, 
sunburned from exposure to all weathers, wear- 
ing a short gown of serviceable woollen stuff, stout 
boots, and a straw hat which would have been 
deemed inexcusable by the censors of fashionable 
millinery. 

She was welcomed by the people, old and 
young, having for all the pleasant sympathy of 
the fraternity. Her early flight to the lake 
shores was like the advent of the first swallows, a 
harbinger of the budding season. The children 
made themselves willing guides to spots where 

219 



A World's Shrine 



favourite flowers grew, because she sought them 
with a characteristic environment of the gnarled 
roots of an adjacent tree, a moist nook of brown 
soil, a tuft of grasses and ferns, a bit of overhang- 
ing rock, stained with a patch of lichens, or a 
glimpse of blue sky visible through a low-sweep- 
ing branch of glancing leaves, and did not wish 
to receive whole sheaves of half-faded trophies 
dragged up by the roots with the misguided zeal 
of ruthless little hands. She soon evaded these 
attendants, and made her pilgrimage alone. To 
the inner eye of spiritualised perception, at least, 
the iris above the cataract was ever forming and 
dissolving in the play of colour here. Nature, in 
a benevolent if mocking mood commanded, 
" Follow me." 

The artist obeyed, dazzled, fascinated, even be- 
wildered by the wealth of beauty lavished about 
her. She endeavoured to catch some weak, crude, 
and fleeting impression of the floral rainbow 
spanning this Eden in the time of blossoms. Her 
little porcelain palette resembled the plate dappled 
with paints given by Turner to the children to 

220 



Blossoms 

mingle into new combination of tints by the play 
of their fingers. Sweeter to the visitor in subtle 
intuition than human smiles and voices was the 
salutation of the children of the earth. 

** You arrive too late this year," sighed the al- 
mond, shedding a few rosy petals down on her 
head. 

" We have waited for you," said the hardy 
winter rose, nestling in the hollows of the moun- 
tain side. 

" Ah ! There you are ! " chimed the crocus, 
starring the turf with white flowers, and thin, silky 
lilac buds. 

The tiny bog violets peeped out at her, shyly, 
from the sides of ravines, while the anemones, of a 
brownish purple hue, wrapped in down hoods, 
added a welcome. 

The warm winds prevailed, steeping all the 
senses in languor, and the sun shed down rays of 
heat, loosening the tongue of every babbling tor- 
rent descending from icicle and glacier above. 
Showers were abundant, in turn, when in the 
opinion of the farmer each drop of rain that falls 

221 



A World's Shrine 



in April is worth a hundred francs. The vines 
formed cables of verdure, looped from tree to 
tree ; stalks of early wheat had sprung up in vivid, 
emerald freshness between the olive terraces, 
flecked with poppies ; and tangled creepers clung 
to the slope down to the cactus and aloe bound- 
ary of gardens along the shore. The artist trod 
the woods carpeted with amaranth and genista. 
The fruit trees made fairy pavilions over her in 
which to dream through long hours : the snowy can- 
opy of the wild cherry, sprays of the deep magenta 
of the Judas tree, a pink tent of peach blossoms, 
the white of pear and apricot, and fragrant nespoli. 
The lines of care were smoothed from her hard- 
favoured, energetic features, her mouth relaxed 
into soft smiles, and snatches of song escaped, 
unconsciously, from her lips. She experienced 
an elasticity of spirit similar to that of George 
Sand when the great writer was able to abstract 
herself from humanity and lived in the plants, the 
grass, the clouds, the flowing stream, as a tree- 
top, or a bird. Then the artist's mood would ac- 
quire a tinge of more serious thought. She was 

222 



Blossoms 

aware that she must return to a work-a-day world 
when her holiday was over. In the meanwhile 
she contemplated, not only the waves upon waves 
of bloom, rippling overhead, and lining her path, 
red stalk, scarlet leaflets on the tips of branches, 
yellow and purple masses, fit to offer on the altar 
of a sun-goddess, a screen of soft, perfumed rose- 
hued and deep orange splendour, here and there, 
but was aware of the mysterious processes of de- 
velopment going on silently in the ground to 
produce such results. 

Then the golden broom beckoned her on 
among the hills, where silver hawthorn, jonquils, 
hyacinths, laburnum, and columbine grew, up to 
the sphere of gentian and white asphodel, with 
unexpected curves dipping gently down to foster 
beds of lilies-of-the-valley, sprinkling the air deli- 
cately with sweetness from their liliputian bells. 
These, also, whispered to her their secrets, spurn- 
ing their swaddling-clothes of calyx, and uprear- 
ing the life germ, the corolla, to the day. She 
questioned each chalice, noting the depths of 
blue clouding, mauve, and violet, with mottled 

223 



A World's Shrine 



streaks and dashes of flame and pearl about the 
stamens. 

The artist bade farewell to her paradise, and 
returned to a studio on a narrow street of a 
sombre town, where smoke from factory chim- 
neys hung heavy over the roofs. She opened 
her sketch-book, and store of paints. For the 
rest of the year spring blossoms signified the 
judicious use of carmine and madder for flowers, 
chromes, ochres, and cobalt in designing sprays 
of peach and almond across screens, panels, and 
even in the bread winning of dainty devices in 
artistic advertisement. She had been with the 
butterflies, wasps, and dragon-flies ; now she must 
emulate the sober bee in making and storing 
honey. Not high art ? If she does her best at 
the task allotted by fate who has the right to 
criticise? Even within town limits she belongs 
to the plezn air school. 



224 



THE SEASONS 

III 
SUMMER 



IS 



XXII 
A CONCEITED SNAIL 

THE summer noonday on Como is 
hushed, and of a fiery intensity. The 
absolute sway of midday is supreme. 
Butterflies flit, Hke blossoms blown 
fitfully, among the plants, and an occasional bee 
hums as if drowsy with sunshine. The dry, 
monotonous chirp of the cicada is the key-note 
of sultry heat. Threads of golden light pene- 
trate the meshes of stems and boughs, and weave 
a tissue through the foliage of warm shadow, 
which furnish a web of reverie, fancies, dreams. 

The great man had retired to yonder spacious 
villa, with many casements, architectural adorn- 
ments, works of art, and chapel. He had a 
grievance, and Como is a delightful spot in which 
to sulk at the world. He had a bald head, a 

227 



A World's Shrine 



thick nose, and a squeaky voice, but he was a 
very illustrious personage, at least in his own 
estimation. He had been unjustly dealt with by 
contemporaries. In the government of country, 
and the veering of the international weather-cock 
of the moment he was in favour of a British, French, 
or Russian alliance at the wrong juncture. A 
sharp altercation with the leader of the opposi- 
tion ensued, in which much eloquence of sarcasm 
was expended on both sides. He imagined that 
royalty frowned on him. The only course was 
to withdraw from the active arena, and be missed. 
Was his absence deplored by any one? Other 
favourites rose to popularity. He was like the 
Roman patrician who was incensed at the intru- 
sion of Senators from Gaul under Julius Caesar. 
He was a modern Umbricius, withdrawn from 
the capital to Cumae in dudgeon, because of the 
number of polished and adroit Greeks usurping 
all posts. He also might exclaim : " Shall 
that man take precedence of me, who came to 
Rome with a cargo of plums and figs? Is it 
of no account that my infancy drew the breath 

228 



A Conceited Snail 



on the Aventine, and was nurtured on the Sabine 
olive berry ? " 

As the Romans of the Republic vaunted their 
own honesty and truthfulness, with Fides for their 
motto, in contrast with the mendacity of the 
Greeks and the perfidy of the Phoenicians, so 
did he pride himself on a probity not shared by 
all of his countrymen. He took as models 
Fabricius, or the incorruptible Regulus and 
Cincinnatus. 

Truly each world revolves on itself, as well as 
around a centre. Ambition is a trait averse to 
solitude ; the great man, therefore, did not will- 
ingly taste of the sleepy flood of obHvion by the 
stream of Lethe to which he had retired. 

He seated himself in a chaise loitgue of a cool 
portion of the garden, with a carafe of wine 
and another of water on an adjacent marble table, 
and opened a fresh journal. 

*' Cripples are very unfit for exercises of the 
body, and lame souls for exercises of the mind," 
said a sage. 

Thus the recluse perused a political leader, 

229 



A World's Shrine 



fumed, shook his head, and tossed aside the ob- 
noxious sheet. In Italian parlance he became 
as red as a pepper, as a cherry, as a shrimp, 
or an iron heated in the fire. He rose, and took 
several turns on the path soliloquising and gesti- 
culating at the latest act of folly of the ministry, 
then stretched himself once more in the chair, 
raised his shppered feet from the ground in a 
comfortable pose, and spread a silk handkerchief 
over his bald head. The next moment he uttered 
a snore. The box hedges exhaled a pungent 
scent, the pines and cedars breathed a resinous 
fragrance in the hot air, mingled with aromatic 
and sweet odours from shrubbery and flowers. 
The cicadas, shrilling in the leafy thickets, made 
a rural orchestra of glassy, rasping sounds, now 
in chorus and duets, and again in solos, — a 
stridulous, drowsy concert. This was the sum- 
mer hynm of the sun and labour, while the fruit 
garnered juices, and the grain turned to gold. 

" Hush ! The god Pan sleeps at noon," said 
a yellow butterfly. 

*' If he is the god Pan I have half a mind to 

230 



A Conceited Snail 



tickle his nose and wake him," buzzed a fly that 
had been trotting on the table, tasting a drop of 
spilled wine. 

*' Let the creature doze if he can," pleaded the 
amiable butterfly. '' See me waltz with the 
flowers," and the insect flitted in mazy circles 
amidst the roses and lilies. 

"Is it a skirt dance? I can glide around, if 
you like," said the little snake, advancing stealth- 
ily at the base of a stone wall, broken and moss- 
grown. 

The snail approached slowly on the margin of 
bank. Does a snail creep, or waddle? This one 
traversed a given space of ground in its own 
fashion. Here was no sinuous shell of pearly 
hue within, with lustre imbibed in the sun's pal- 
ace porch, but a somewhat battered relic, shabby 
and knocked about, of sea-life at some remote 
period, and the door of the mansion fitted snugly. 
The inmate was plump, not to say portly, as if 
the fine appetite of eating an eighth part of its 
own weight of cabbage in three hours, attributed 
to the species, was verified in this Como garden. 

231 



A World's Shrine 



The snail had all the egotism of Montaigne's 
Gosling, and deemed itself the very centre of the 
universe. A scorpion, in form a small cray-fish, 
emerged from a fissure of the wall. 

" Come over here, snail, where the ground is 
nice and moist," said the scorpion in an affable 
tone. 

" Please don't hurry me," protested the snail. 
"Besides, I know all the best places. This gar- 
den belongs to me, and has always been in my 
family." 

The tiny ant folk, busy with their own affairs, 
paused to listen, waving antennae in the air; a 
brown beetle, clambering up a hillock of loose 
soil, rolled over on its back with laughter at the 
superb statement, and the grasshoppers, skip- 
ping here and there in the turf — for it was 
true grasshopper weather — giggled. The pretty 
snake glided nearer, and added : 

" The song of the children from France, Italy, 
Germany, and Russia to China is the same : 

* Snail, Snail, put out your horn, 
Or I '11 kill your father and mother the morn.' " 

232 



A Conceited Snail 



The Como mollusk obeyed, exclaiming: 

" Goodness ! Are there children about? That 
is the worst of being so tender and delicate, you 
know. Everybody wishes to eat you." 

" Succulent," suggested the scorpion, wag- 
gishly. ** Ho ! ho ! I might be taken for a 
bonne bouche-' 

" Never ! " replied the snail in a tone of con- 
descension. " You are quite safe. Who ever 
heard of eating a scorpion? Now for my part it 
makes me shudder to consider those suppers of 
Lucullus where dressed snails were indispensable, 
or the snailery of Prince Esterhazy in Hungary 
where my kindred are fattened on favourite plants. 
I think I am an Anglomaniac because the English 
speaking races, as a rule, are squeamish about 
adopting us for food. The Latin nations are not 
to be depended on. The French emulate the 
ancient Romans in culinary skill of serving me 
up. Great ladies may still surfeit themselves 
on a dainty as Maria Bianca Sforza, wife of 
Maximilian I., is said to have injured her 
health. There is a brisk trade going on be- 

233 



A World's Shrine 



tween the Valtellina and Bergamo in large snails 
at present." 

" Is it true that the French make syrups and 
lozenges of escargots for nervous maladies ? " 
mocked the little snake. 

" Is it true that you eat fennel to render your 
eyes bright, and attract birds, according to 
Pliny?" retorted the snail, tartly. 

The snake raised its head, and hissed angrily. 

" You belong to a very large family, I believe," 
said a cicada, looking down from a branch with 
goggle eyes. 

" Oh, yes," said the snail, yawning, and 
preparing to shut the door for a siesta. ** The 
gasteropodous moUusk, the vertigo, with a cylin- 
drical, fusiform shell, the Limax, a slug, and the 
Pahidina vivipara of fresh-water pools are rela- 
tives of mine." 

" Well ! if I ever saw a conceited snail," said 
the scorpion. 

" What did you say? " demanded the object of 
criticism, suspiciously. 

" Oh, nothing," rejoined the scorpion. 

234 



A Conceited Snail 



The hot air seemed to have vibrations in the 
chirp of the insects, mingled with a soporific hum 
in the distance of slower wings. 

" Hush ! The god Pan sleeps at noon," re- 
peated the yellow butterfly, poising on a spray 
of jasmine. 

Thereupon the mischievous fly tickled the nose 
of the great man. A stout lady in a loose, white 
robe, with her abundant, dark hair beautifully 
coififed, appeared at a door of the closed mansion. 

*' My friend, you will get an apoplexy out 
there in the heat," she warned. 

"True," assented the great man, rising and 
testing the temperature of his brow, anxiously. 

A stroke of apoplexy would be a sad calamity 
to the political world. 

"Did you mean a conceited snail?" inquired 
the little snake of the scorpion. 

'* If the cap fits," replied the scorpion, with- 
drawing into the fissure of wall once more. 



235 



THE SEASONS 

IV 

AUTUMN 



XXIII 
HIS OWN VINE AND FIG-TREE 

ON the outskirts of a hamlet of the 
western bank of Como, between 
Gravedona and Colico, stands a way- 
side osteria of modest pretensions. 
The road is usually white with dust, the inn 
small, as a resort of refreshment from the heat, 
and consists of two rooms on the ground-floor, 
with several additional, irregular chambers, 
gained by a ladder-like stairway, under the roof 
of crimped and fluted brown tiles. The house is 
coloured a warm saffron pink hue, the shutters of 
the small windows are yellowish green, and vines 
of the striped gourd climb around the upper 
casements in a not ungraceful canopy of leaves. 
A niche above the door holds a statuette of 
the Madonna of terra-cotta in a robe of deep, 

239 



A World's Shrine 



hard blue. The gate which encloses garden 
patch, and a few fruit trees, is wide open on the 
arid highway, as if inviting a thirsty wayfarer to 
enter. The approach to the habitation is char- 
acteristic of northern Italy and the Tyrol, the 
work of the kitchen being turned out-of-doors, 
as it were, in an easy, unkempt fashion. Fowls 
peck about the threshold, and pigeons strut on 
the roof. The Grandmother Agata shells peas 
or beans in an earthen basin, or washes salad and 
vegetables on the bench placed along the wall, 
while the buxom mistress of the premises rinses 
linen, dresses small fish, or attends to other 
culinary preparations in view of possible cus- 
tomers, the actual triumph of frying or roasting 
belonging to the skill of the host, with his one 
arm. The osteria faces the lake, with an arbour 
(pergola) leading in the direction of the water, 
covered with luxuriant grapevine, and a strip of 
shingle along the shore where boats may push up 
on occasion. 

A rustic simplicity pertains to the little inn, 
yet it is a shrine with a history sufficiently com- 

240 



His own Vine and Fig-tree 

plete to have rounded the sphere of experience 
to the participants. 

The charming custom has long prevailed of 
having Manzoni's Promessi Sposi performed at 
the town of Lecco, each season, by a good dra- 
matic company. In how many nooks of Como 
the drama may be enacted in real life, with each 
new generation ! 

The pedestrian tempted to seek simple fare 
and enter the osteria is welcomed with an easy 
grace of courtesy that any Boniface might envy. 
Leandro, the host, a sun-bronzed man, with a 
frank and good-humoured physiognomy, a vigor- 
ous, muscular figure, and an empty sleeve where 
a stalwart right arm should serve him through 
life, invites the stranger to be seated at a table 
under the pergola, shaded by the canopy of green 
vine-leaves, and breakfast on a dish of eggs, fish 
of the lake, or a stufato (stew), and a morsel of 
Gorgonzola cheese; the repast completed by a 
flask of sound wine {vino sincero). 

Laura, the hostess, assists in these prepara- 
tions. She is a handsome young woman, with 
i6 241 



A World's Shrine 



a sympathetic face, a true daughter of autumn 
sunshine and the lake district in the warm tones 
of skin, and the supple outline of throat, shoulder, 
and bust. Her black hair is braided in tresses 
and surrounded by an aureole of silver pins, 
while coral beads and filigree of gold encircle 
her neck. Her dark eyes look out from beneath 
level brows with a steadfast expression. Prob- 
ably the stranger, keenly observant of types in 
foreign lands, will wonder where such girls of the 
people obtain their proud bearing, finely moulded 
limbs, and noble features. 

The Grandmother Agata, bent, careworn, and 
wrinkled, knitting a stocking, will pause beyond 
the entrance of the arbour, looking on, like St. 
Anna in the background of the altar pictures of 
the early masters. The children gather near the 
decrepit fig-tree at the angle of the house, with 
the house dog, a mastiff of sagacious aspect, 
whose bearing to customers is bland at this 
hour. 

If the stranger is affable, as tourists are apt to 
be in such places, he elicits the modest history 

242 




A CoMO Girl 



His own Vine and Fig-tree 

of the group before him, as easily as he would 
read the page of an open book. Indeed Lean- 
dro, the host, with the dramatic instinct of his 
race, rehearses the whole to an attentive listener. 
Yes, he is master here, at last ! Like Man- 
zoni's hero Renzo he is an orphan, and inherited 
this bit of land (^a poderetto)^ where he would have 
gladly dwelt, and tended his own fruit trees. He 
is a contadino by nature, honest, peaceable, and 
temperate ; but the conscription swept him away 
to the irksome military career, and later he went 
to Africa. Bello ! The Signore finds him as 
black as a Moor. The sun down there burns. 
He was affianced to Laura yonder. How they 
have waited ! The couple look at each other 
and smile. If Leandro was wont in those care- 
less days of the earliest youth to troll songs be- 
neath the humble casement of his mistress, in a 
fine baritone voice, declaring the girl to be a 
blossom of the peach, a flower of the mint, the 
gourd, the radish, or her mouth as sweet as the 
grapes when the vintage is ripest, Laura may 
now retort, demurely : 

243 



A World's Shrine 



" When I was a maiden free and blithesome, 
Of Strombotti I knew a bushel. 
Married now, no more so blithesome, 
This bushel 's o'erturned and spilt away." 

Here the Grandmother Agata nods and changes 
her knitting-needles with nimble fingers. Yes, 
the Laura was faithful, and waited for the soldier 
to return. She had many other suitors. A fine 
girl like that, and of good character ! What 
would you have? Why, even the superintendent 
of the silk mill at Bergamo — eh ! — but no, she 
made a vow to the Madonna that she would 
marry Leandro, or no one. 

Leandro resumes the thread of his often repeated 
experiences. He was stationed at Massaua ; he 
was at Dogali ; missing ; given up for dead ; hid- 
den from the enemy until nearly starved ; then 
succeeded in crawling back to camp, and had 
his wounded right arm amputated. He ulti- 
mately regained native shores, and home. What 
did he find? The cousin who had promised to 
take care of his little property had died, and the 
family emigrated. His betrothed and her mother 

244 



His own Vine and Fig-tree 

had moved to Bergamo in search of work in the 
silk mills. The modern soldier, like his medi- 
seval prototype of the famous romance, inspected 
his domain in dismay. No barrier gate re- 
mained, and the people of the country had rifled 
everything they could carry off, — mulberries, 
figs, and cherries. New growth of shoots and 
creepers weighed down the branches, and strove 
to stifle each other by a prodigal, untrammelled 
luxuriance. The ground was covered with a mass 
of weeds, ferns, tares, cockles, grass, wild-oats, 
green amaranth, tangled roots, sorrel, and dock ; 
the noxious intruders abhorred by the husband- 
man of all lands. A wilderness of plants braided, 
climbed, and twisted in a confusion of leaves, 
flowers, and fruit of varied colours, sprays of red 
and white, stars of blue blossoms, and bunches 
of yellow bloom. The bramble held full sway, 
linking its stem from one neighbour to another, 
dipping down earthward, then clambering up 
beyond, and disputing the passage of all in- 
truders. The fig-tree still stood, and several 
mulberries, with the gourd vine running riot 

245 



A World's Shrine 



among the branches. The grape, vigorous and 
untrained, triumphed over this waste of fragrance, 
and spread green leaves, flowers, and clusters of 
purple fruit on the trellis of the pergola. The 
harvest was rudely despoiled, as Manzoni de- 
scribes the Spanish soldiery entering the vine- 
yards around Lecco, and saving the peasants the 
trouble of any vintage. This Renzo also forced 
his way through the matted weeds, and entered 
the house. Storms had mildewed the walls, 
spiders spun webs across the ceiling, and mice 
had taken possession of the premises. A worthy 
comrade found him here, inert and despairing, 
cheered him by a good welcome, made a fire on 
the hearth, put on the pot of water to heat and 
stir in the maize for polenta, then brought the 
little secchio of milk, a bit of bacon, a couple of 
raveggioli (goat's-milk cheese), figs, and peaches. 
Thus comforted by human fellowship, Leandro 
had sought and found his affianced bride. The 
wedding had been performed by the parish priest, 
a sleek Don Abbondio, who fills his sphere be- 
nevolently, although he may be an earthen vase 

246 



His own Vine and Fig-tree 

amidst the iron vessels of humanity in the com- 
munity. Laura had worn her bodice of brocade, 
and sleeves fastened with ribbons, and brought 
a modest dowry of household linen, saved from 
her wages. Her cheeks had not lost their bloom, 
nor her eyes their brilliancy in the waiting. Don 
Abbondio often sits in the shade of the pergola, 
takes a pinch of snuff, and questions the children. 
Also a capuchin with a silvery beard, in a brown 
robe, and sandals, who makes a quest for his 
community with a coarse bag carried over his 
shoulder, receives from Laura her apron full of 
chestnuts. He might be own brother of Fra 
Cristoforo of long ago. He had prayers repeated 
in the convent chapel for a safe return of Leandro 
by the intercession of the Virgin, and even wrote 
letters to the absent one. 

" It is only by a miracle of the Madonna I am 
here, at all, after that blessed Africa," concludes 
the host of the little inn. 

The October day glorifies all nature, filling the 
ravines in the cliffs across the lake with a golden 
mist, toucliing the surface of the ripples with a 

247 



A World's Shrine 



light breeze that imparts a silvery green tint of 
the beryl to the mid-current, and all merging to 
the amber, russet, and rich brown of distant 
reaches of shore, like molten metal in the warm 
atmosphere. Zones of foliage, ivy, and brush- 
wood, withered to yellow and grey tones by 
autumn, cover lower slopes of undulating ridges, 
crags clothed with sombre firs rise above, and 
heights are bathed in rose, lilac, and blue, melt- 
ing to the delicacy of a pearly horizon. All is 
peaceful in the sunshine ; the rough winds sleep, 
and winter storms seem far away beyond the 
mighty Alpine rampart. This poem of gaiety, 
reverie, passionate animation, and indolence, the 
life of the native, goes on through the centuries 
almost unchanged, while light and shadow pass 
over the peaks, little hamlets gleam out on upper 
spurs here and there, and a church tower glistens 
set in the mass of verdure of a gorge, sending the 
note of its bell in greeting down to the boats. 

Beyond the pergola a vat half-filled with 
grapes is trodden by two naked boys, as pretty 
as cherubs, with much roguish glee. The youth- 

248 



His own Vine and Fig-tree 

ful Bacchanals, the sons of Leandro, like the 
cupids of a Greek vase, afford a key-note of the 
scene and the land. 

The maimed soldier has returned home to dwell 
under his own vine and fig-tree. What greater 
boon could he ask of providence? To own his 
grapes, and make wine is the fulfilment of well- 
being to Leandro. He cherishes, prunes, en- 
riches, and trims the roots and tendrils with 
personal care. Woe betide the wild boar of a 
marauder capable of ruthlessly trampling this 
vineyard with the legitimate owner once more 
in possession ! The most sheep-like native waxes 
fierce in defence of his harvest before the vintage 
throughout the land. Leandro watches, spies, 
and remains wakeful day and night. He looses 
the mastiff with stern injunctions to give no 
quarter to thieves, acts as sentinel himself, gun 
in hand, and would plant a howitzer on the strip 
of beach if he could, to intimidate intruders. 
Who knows? An honest neighbour may be 
tempted to rifle a basket of grapes, and make a 
little wine in his own cellar. As for thirsty ur- 

249 



A World's Shrine 



chins, gazing wistfully at the tempting bunches 
swinging out of reach on the pergola, like the fox 
of the fable, they need to be taught a severe 
lesson at this season. 

Pliny the Younger, in his praise of various 
pergolae could have commended the exuberance 
of growth of Leandro's inheritance. The note- 
taking Roman gentleman might readily have pro- 
nounced the vine of the modest Inn : Una vitis 
Romce in Livice porticibiis pergulis opacat eadem 
duodenis musti amphoris fceamda, etc. 

Leandro is a temperate man withal, yet his 
own wine is as the nectar of the gods to him. 
What would Pliny, acquainted with many varieties 
of grapes for the table and vintage, have thought 
of Leandro's wine? Would the beverage not 
have been deemed thin and acid, sadly lacking in 
body and bouquet, resembling the Setine wine 
preferred by Augustus, the Veientine, or that of 
Varenna and Griante, recommended to Lodovico 
Sforza for his health? The wise Pliny must have 
interrogated this rustic son of Como, born so 
many generations after himself, thus : 

250 



His own Vine and Fig-tree 

*' By what process, O brother, do you extract 
the juice of the grapes? According to the most 
ancient methods, when libations were first poured 
out to the gods, and men under thirty years of 
age, as well as all women, were forbidden to 
drink it, the fruit was gathered in osier baskets, 
squeezed by the press, the toradtim, or prelum, 
the liquid passed through a strainer, and received 
in a tub, or vat of masonry work, lined with 
plaster, and sunk in the ground, or put in a large 
cask of wood, the dolium, or even potter's earth, 
until fermentation was over. The must, or new 
wine, refined by mixture with the yolk of pigeon's 
eggs, was poured into vessels (amphorae), cov- 
ered with pitch, or chalk, and bunged. Wine was 
even kept in leather bags. Do you make the 
Passum wine of half-dried grapes? Do you mel- 
low your vintage over smoke in a fumarium, or 
give a flavour of rosin, on occasion? Of course, 
poor man, there is no question of serving your 
customers in jugs, with two handles, glass, pre- 
cious amethyst cups, murrha, or the ware of 
Samos. One does as one can in this world ! 

251 



A World's Shrine 



Possibly you buy your wine in casks, or amphorae, 
from the public depositories after the Roman 
custom." 

The jolly Leandro would have responded: 

" I just heap my bruised fruit into a hogshead, 
and am lucky if it comes out fit for barrel or flask 
in time." 

He awaits custom within his own boundaries, 
but he attends fairs occasionally, where he meets 
many comrades, and is required to narrate over 
again his adventures on the Red Sea. An 
annual festa suffices for him. His Ham Fair of 
the Paris Easter, or summer f^te of Neuilly, may 
be no more than a Saint's day in September 
when gifts are blessed in a favourite church, 
rabbits, doves, pomegranates, olive oil, and 
pears. 

Autumn steeps the hills in haze, the lake 
surface changes like a jewel from frosted emerald 
and sapphire to golden reflections as the sky 
warms to the glowing radiance of the waning 
day. The withered leaves of the grape vine 
flutter down through the trellis of the Pergola on 

252 



His own Vine and Fig-tree 



the head of Leandro, whose contented mood is 
undisturbed. He exclaims : 

" Casa miuy casa mia, per piccina che tu sia, tu 
mi sembri zcna badia'' 

(Oh, my own house, however small, seems to 
me as spacious as an abbey.) 



253 



XXIV 

BOYHOOD 

CARLO entered the chestnut woods. 
The place was his kingdom, his 
world. He was too young to dream 
of any other sphere. Ambition still 
slumbered in his breast. Military conscription, 
or emigration might sweep him away from the 
home nook, and make a man of him. The boy 
had never thought about the matter. The chest- 
nut wood had represented life from the cradle to 
the grave to so many generations. Why need 
he go further in his time? This son of Como 
was as nearly akin to sylvan creatures, and the 
shepherds as civilised humanity may well be. 
The ignorant simplicity of a healthy young 
animal amply sufficed at this period of exist- 
ence. On the other hand the gifts of chance 
could as readily be showered upon him. Fancy 

254 



Boyhood 

deals with his lot, according to the hour and 
the season. He was a connecting link of the 
races of the south, between the remote past of 
Italy and Greece and the present of the farm 
villa labourer. Now we relegate him readily to 
the Arcadians of Virgil. The lad was neither 
clumsy nor loutish in bearing, although he did 
not know how to read or write. He was well 
formed and firmly coloured. In adolescence he 
would serve as a model for an artist, moving with 
the easy grace of untrammelled limbs, and in- 
spired with the naive vanity of his people. In 
Arcadia the description of him would have been 
that his flesh was white as cheese, and his frame 
as delicate as that of a lamb ; only, he possessed 
the glorious strength of a young bull, and the 
firmness of a green grape. The melodies of his 
little reed pipe must have discoursed about the 
changing of Narcissus into a flower, and hiding 
Daphne within the bark of a tree. His songs, as 
a Corydon, dealt with the beech thickets, the 
clumps of alder, the green laurel, and tender 
myrtles ; of Thestylis crushing together the garlic 



A World's Shrine 



with the fragrant wild thyme, and other plants 
more bitter than the herbs of Sardinia. Offer- 
ings to a shepherdess consisted of plums as 
yellow as wax, the peach with velvet down, 
apples, and the golden marigold. 

On the prosaic side of real life Carlo was only 
a simple lad, with ear attuned to the strident note 
of the cicada in the heat, the murmur of bees, 
and the occasional call of the hawk wheeling 
through the luminous atmosphere in flight 
towards the Stelvio. As a baby he was brought 
in the cradle to the chestnut wood with the rest 
of the family, and carefully minded by the dog 
while the others worked. Such was his baptism 
of experience received from the foster-mother, 
the grove, and under the watchful eye of canine 
wisdom. Sunny years succeeded, of light-hearted 
mischief and gaiety, scrambling early on nimble, 
little legs, to toddle after the older children in 
sport or labour. The down of those first seasons 
was still on this nestling. No book lore was his, 
and he struggled fiercely to escape thraldom of 
schooling as the wild creatures hid amidst the 

256 



Boyhood 

branches and rocky ledges, but he read the page 
daily outspread before the quick eye of urchin- 
hood. The young marauder, with dusky cheeks, 
a ready smile, and white teeth, exemplified the 
proverb that a goat was never known to die of 
hunger. Carlo was familiar with the dells where 
a scanty harvest of edible berries ripened, and 
the pine-tree of the ravine that yielded the seed- 
like kernels from the cones, as well as the field of 
fungus growth. Precocious alertness marked his 
skill in snaring birds with willow twigs, and a 
noose of string baited with red berries. Such 
luck as catching the quail, weary with the flight 
from Africa, in nets attached to poles was scarcely 
to be hoped for, but a careless lark, or a thrush 
might, at any time, hop his way. The chestnuts 
appeased the cravings of hunger for a consider- 
able portion of the year. In conformity with the 
adage he ate the bread of the woods, and drank 
the wine of the clouds. No dulness of spirit, or 
lack of imagination characterised his rustic igno- 
rance. The current of warm life coursed through 
his veins like quicksilver. He had imbibed tales 
17 257 



A World's Shrine 



of the Madonna, and legends of the saints with 
his mother's milk. He feared the witches. He 
was already more skilled in even vague calcula- 
tions as to winning numbers of the lottery than 
seemed credible in a sylvan creature, gleaned 
from listening to the gossip of his elders. 
Buried treasure, and the signs and symbols lead- 
ing to its discovery stimulated his most ardent 
hopes. At least in dreams, or whispering secrets 
to the other children among the chestnut trees, 
one dilated on digging in the soil, and coming 
unexpectedly to a copper pot, filled with jewels, 
once buried there by brigands. Again, if a lad 
tended the little black pig in such favoured 
localities as the Tiber valley, or the Roman 
Campagna, the useful animal in rooting about 
could easily turn up a glittering gold coin, a 
Marengo, for example. Some embryo sentiment 
of masculine chivalry occasioned the pantomime 
play of protecting little Egina, the neighbour's 
daughter, from possible wolves prowling into the 
chestnut-wood from the heights, on a cold winter 
day, with much fearsome shouting, capering, and 

258 



Boyhood 

brandishing of a cudgel to frighten off the 
enemy. Carlo was not as yet touched by the 
tender passion. He did not bring the gifts of 
fruit and flowers of the bucolic swain in 
homage to the ragged and barefooted little 
Egina. All too soon that young person would 
put up her hair in an elaborate coiffure, and sigh 
for feminine finery, while the lad's nature devel- 
oped under the sway of folly and jealousy of 
rivals. Tragedy and violence would then be 
gently condoned by a lenient public as an " affair 
of love." 

A Milanese author states : 

"Around the Lake of Como is to be found perhaps 
the most ingenious and industrious population of 
Europe. Every portion of these narrow confines has 
sent forth and maintained colonies of transplanted 
families. For many years there has not been a shore, 
or a valley of the lake without natives in Spain, Ger- 
many, Portugal, or Sicily. From this nook have eman- 
ated machinery, electricity, physical experiments, and 
the fabrication of such instruments as barometers and 
telescopes. From the Three Parishes wine merchants 
and innkeepers have established themselves elsewhere, 

259 



A World's Shrine 



as well as dealers in silk and linen. Masons and white- 
washers have formed co-operations, with laws almost 
republican. . . . The emigration has not been solely 
from the shores of Larius, but from the border of the 
Ceresio, and the Valtellina, where every valley has 
furnished a contingent of stone-cutters, workers in 
stucco, chimney-sweeps, porters, and game-keepers." 

As regards boyhood, Carlo had all the chances 
of his race. What if a keen maestro on a holi- 
day out from Milan heard the lad singing like a 
blackbird, and discerned a future tenor or bari- 
tone, destined to win fame, in the healthy rustic? 
What if an artist made an excursion among the 
hills, with his sketch-book in hand, and found 
Carlo a clever pupil, as Cimabue discovered 
Giotto so long ago? Swept away to studio and 
gallery Carlo might emulate Pietro Ligario of 
Sondrio, who studied at Rome, Venice, and Milan, 
and returned to the Valtellina in 1727, where he 
found slight encouragement for his art, until pat- 
ronised by the Baron de Salis, and at the close of 
his career there was scarcely a church of his na- 
tive province without one of his altar pieces. 

260 



Boyhood 

Nobody had noted these qualities in Carlo, as 
yet. He was indolent, mute, uncomprehending 
of the dormant traits of Shakespeare's youth : 

" True, I talk of dreams, 
Which are the children of an idle brain ; 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
Which is as thin of substance as the air; 
And more inconstant than the wind." 

Autumn in all the warmth of resplendent tones 
of amber, russet, and amethyst brooded in the 
sunny stillness of noon on Como,, The Novem- 
ber night had brought a hint of frost to the holly 
of lower slopes, purple juniper, arbutus, spindle- 
wood, or scarlet broom. The amphitheatre of 
hills of the Pian di Tivano glowed with the copse 
of crimson and yellow bloom, and the bells of a 
herd of cattle, guarded by shaggy men, were audi- 
ble on the flanks of Monte San Primo. Mas- 
ses of rock towered up on all sides, as if chiselled 
in sharp outline on the sky, and veined with 
colour as rich in gradation of hues, tawny gold, 
copper, or grey, as the clinging vines of adjacent 
vegetation. The oak brushwood formed a zone 

261 



A World's Shrine 



of golden red. In clefts and crannies of the lime- 
stone Pteris Cretica flourished, and spikes of 
gentian. This Val di Nesso extends to the Pian 
di Tivano, as does Val Esino from Varenna to 
the Cainallo Pass, or the Val di Gravedona to 
the San Jorio Pass. 

The boy Carlo hastened to join his companions 
in the joyous harvest time. The men beat the 
branches, the children gathered up the chestnuts 
from the ground, and the women carried them 
homeward in the baskets on their backs. Such 
was the hope of each year to the population, with 
rights of the commune over certain tracts to be 
respected, and property of families or individ- 
uals left untouched, while the poor followed as 
gleaners. 

The chestnut-wood belongs to that upper realm 
of light, wind, and sunshine. Ah, the dear, be- 
neficent chestnut trees of Italy, France, and Spain 
that feed so many hungry mouths ! The bene- 
factor of the human race who plants a tree must 
win paradise. How friendly, almost human in 
protection of shade, are the trunks rising straight 

262 



Boyhood 

and symmetrical here, and bent or twisted by the 
storms and years there, if not fallen prone among 
the mosses, and lichen-covered rocks. A refuge 
to seek in all emergencies, the wood of Nesso 
extended the shelter of wide-spreading boughs 
in rain and heat to childhood, and even the 
deeper troubles of maturity, for women to sob 
away grief, soothed by the myriad rippling sounds 
of swaying foliage, and water, or manhood to 
wrestle with anger and revenge, and possibly con- 
quer these terrible instincts. 

In winter patches of snow lingered in the hol- 
lows amidst the dead leaves swept into billows 
by the storms. Spring decked the glades with 
green and gold, and gave to the bushes and chest- 
nuts their blossoms, and first tufts of leaves. Then 
the soft unfolding of summer hours brought the 
ripened fruit of autumn, and all hearts rejoiced if 
the harvest was sound and abundant. Ah, the 
good chestnuts ! Young Carlo knew their bounty 
to the land. Gathered in the wood, they were 
heaped on mats of cane, and smoke-dried over a 
fire, then shelled by beating together in a bag, 

263 



A World's Shrine 



and ground to flour at the mill. How delicious 
to juvenile hunger the flour mixed with water, 
spread on dried chestnut-leaves, and baked be- 
tween two heated stones in the mode of Lucca ! 
Then the polenta, the fritters temptingly fried, 
and the great cake in a pan, on a three-legged 
stool, mingled with oil and spices, of a dark 
chocolate colour, the top powdered with flour, 
of which delicacy one bought a wedge-shaped 
slice. Carlo had only heard of these luxuries. 
The career of the chestnut-roaster, who quits his 
native canton Ticino with the first cold weather, 
to set up his little furnace on the street corners 
of Florence, Rome, or Genoa, and serve the 
nuts crisp and hot to pedestrians, is an enviable 
calling. 

When the last group had departed, and the 
early nightfall shrouded the heights, the trees 
rustled and communed together in their own 
fashion. A patriarch, gnarled and twisted with 
years, yet still left standing, with a stanch hold 
of roots in the soil, remarked to the more vigorous 
generations, and the sapHngs ranged about: 

264 



Boyhood 

** We have given man of our bounty another 
year. May the good food be blessed to his need. 
How they grow up, the children. The lad was 
fetched here in his cradle only the other spring, 
and he may become one of the old gleaners, 
in his time, never quitting the shadow of our 
branches. Who knows?" 

The saplings laughed among themselves. They 
had not yet had their day. 

** Time passes, and carries away everything," 
murmured the patriarch chestnut tree. // tempo 
passa, e porta via ogjti cosa. The generations 
of visitors come and go through the gates of 
Como, but the sunset glows on the surface of 
the waters, and the twilight gathers beneath 
the cliffs unchanged in the recurring years. 



265 



XXV 

TRAGEDY IN SUNSHINE 

IN the year 1900, July the thirtieth was a 
Monday, soft, calm, and languid, with all 
the promise of midsummer heat in the 
morning hours after a night of storms. 
The lake world wore its most hushed, and even 
somnolent aspect of peaceful loveliness. The 
Como craft passed on the silvery current of the 
waters in a listless fashion. An early steamer 
glided from one shore to the other silently. The 
stranger, pausing in the shade of oleander, acacia, 
and palm on the bank to watch the black poodle 
take a bath in the limpid wavelets of the little 
pebbly beach below, was vaguely aware that 
these boats had no music and crowd of work-a- 
day folk from Milan on board, out for a festUy 
but one flag trailing astern at half-mast. 

266 



Tragedy in Sunshine 



A young nursemaid and a bevy of children 
were fishing over the stone parapet of the pier, 
and landed a victim occasionally, with much 
merriment and splashing, destined for the noon- 
day frying-pan of the household taking the 
August holiday in an apartment on Como. Sud- 
denly they dropped their fishing-gear, and took 
flight, like a flock of birds, along the road to 
meet the father as he slowly approached perusing 
a morning journal. The group thus passed, the 
young nursemaid and the children gazing intently 
at burly Paterfamilias, who read a sentence aloud 
in a rapid undertone. At least the little ones 
received an impression of the momentous events 
of life through their dilated, dark eyes ! Possibly 
the phrases to be current coin in the land were 
first printed in that morning journal : " after the 
catastrophe," or " before the disaster." 

Then the English officer, just returned from a 
hospital in South Africa, limped across the path 
to take his place in the gaily tinted cockle-shell 
boat, with awning spread, and paused to light 
his pipe, querying : 

267 



A World's Shrine 



" You have heard the news? They have killed 
the king at Monza near here. The townspeople 
have been gathered about the office of the 
telegraph all night. Surely we live in evil 
times ! " 

How still it was after that ! A grey shadow 
of subtle change to gloom and chill seemed to 
pass over mountain and lake, so readily does 
nature lend herself to the mood of humanity in 
such spots. The steamers glided across to the 
other shore with their pennants drooping to the 
tide. A passing breeze lifted the great banner 
of the hotel on its staff, and swayed the black 
pennants attached. The poodle emerged from 
the bath, dripping and wretched, and whimpered 
unnoticed. 

The boatman, tall, supple, and bronzed, averted 
his face in walking past. 

"Boatman ! Is it true that the king is dead? " 

"It is true, Signore," replied the boatman, 
touching his cap, yet with eyes steadily turned 
away. 

The gardener, small, sturdy, and good-natured, 

268 



Tragedy in Sunshine 



who had gossiped with the foreigner for the last 
half-hour concerning his flower parterres, fetched 
a basket of shrubbery clippings to cast into the 
lake. 

*' Gardener ! Have they killed the king? " 

" They have killed him, Signore," and the 
gardener hastened on with an expression of dread 
of further interrogation. 

Such was the awakening of Como on the sum- 
mer morning. Trifling incidents remain photo- 
graphed on the mind in the impressions of that 
day of tragedy in sunshine. The hours dragged 
on filled with fresh details of events which would 
become historical, at least in Italy. 

The king, arrived once more at Monza, his 
favourite summer residence of many years, at- 
tended the anniversary of the gymnasium of the 
town. He had witnessed the prowess of vain- 
glorious striplings in the exercises with the affa- 
bility of his race. 

'^ Ah ! When I was young, I was also fond of 
such feats," he said, in farewell, as he entered 
his carriage amidst the acclamations of the crowd, 

269 



A World's Shrine 



the strains of martial music, and the dazzling 
glow of electric light. 

The report of a pistol cut the air with a sinister 
vibration. 

" It is nothing," sighed the brave and honour- 
able gentleman, and fell forward into eternal 
silence at the gates of his own home. 

The royal equipage whirled swiftly under the 
sheltering trees of the avenue, but Fear flew at 
greater speed in warning. The queen, in her 
shining white robes of a State reception, and sur- 
rounded by her court, came forth from the palace 
portal to receive him. A clement monarch, who 
strove to do his duty, and a noble breast pierced 
by a cowardly bullet; such remains the record 
of the July night The pitiable narration may 
well inspire in the heart of man surprise, indigna- 
tion, and sorrow the world over. He must have 
been ready to resign his sceptre to another hand, 
for if ever ruler tasted the bitterness of human 
ingratitude, in manifold phases, it was he. Only 
that charming surrounding of stanch family loy- 
alty and affection can have sustained him, at 

270 



Tragedy in Sunshine 



times, and rendered enviable his lot, to prince or 
peasant alike. 

The telegraph thrilled with its message to the 
Duke of Genoa off Naples : 

" Humberiy three times wounded^ is dead. Seek 

Vittorio. 

*' Margherita." 

In due course " the young man on the sea," 
came to his right of inheritance. Already the 
modern Italian poet tunes his lyre to the ren- 
dering of this dirge of the storm as unfolding 
new destinies of the Latin soul. In the shadow 
of profound grief he dreams that Italy, the an- 
cient, will rise anew, and illumine with her torch 
the path of unborn heroes. 

The July day on Como waned. The moon 
rose in the pulseless evening hours, fragrant with 
gardens, and shone far on the tranquil waters 
until obscured by clouds tinged copper-red, 
melting to a film of black mist. Superstitious 
credence in dread portents held dominion over 
the lake world. 



271 



XXVI 

THE WINDS OF COMO 

MID-WAY on the lake shores a 
Castle of Indolence stands on a 
promontory, with spacious cham- 
bers and wide-spreading awnings, 
inviting to repose after the fatigue of oily railway 
and dusty mountain road. The place is an 
seolian harp, swept by every wind of Como, wail- 
ing down the chimneys at midnight, sighing 
through half-closed casements in the dawn, and 
crashing glass doors together ruthlessly in some 
treacherous gust of noon-day. Pilgrims to the 
world's shrine pervade these precincts, arriving 
by the four gates of entrance to the tiny paradise, 
in search of an atmosphere of indulgent ease, of 
calmness of mind, of even good-natured loung- 
ing, according to the poet, remote from ambition, 
envy, and strife. They come in cheerful, family 

272 



The Winds of Como 



groups from the Antipodes, in formidable pha- 
lanx of lady travellers personally conducted on 
summer tours, in throngs of skurrying boy cyclists 
" doing " the land on a wheel under the guidance 
of a master tutor. These hosts fill the place to 
the roof with a transient bustle and animation, 
and depart leaving the winds once more in pos- 
session of deserted corridors. 

It were sheer calumny to designate the worthy 
Swiss porter, who sorts all these human bundles, 
so to speak, tracks missing feminine travelling- 
bags, and attends to the bicycles, as the door- 
keeper of the original Castle of Indolence, who 
provided slippered ease for guests, then returned 
to doze at his post. On the contrary, the modern 
Swiss inspires the conviction that he is always on 
duty in his stiff livery, and that he dispenses with 
sleep altogether in the interest of early train and 
late steamer, unless he indulges in a brief nap 
hung on a peg in his little den of an office with 
his rain cloak. 

The pilgrims ebb and flow, and the castle stands 
forsaken. 

i8 273 



A World's Shrine 



" Was nought around but images of rest ; 
Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between, 
And flowery beds that slumbrous influences kest, 
From poppies breath'd." 

I. The South Wind. 

At noon of a June day a silvery ripple marks 
the entrance of Lecco into Como, and the breva, 
or south wind, begins to blow. Is it the most 
balmy zephyr of earth, filling the square sails of 
the boats waiting to catch the favourable breeze, 
and fanning humanity with a pure and soft re- 
freshment of sunny air which permeates all the 
veins, the very sources of being, with a sort of 
intoxication after winter fog and spring storm? 
The mere expansion of living and breathing 
suffices when the breva blows over Lake Como. 
The divine beauty of the world appeals to the 
soul in an etherealised and radiant sense. The 
precious boon of existence questioned by wise 
and gloomy schools of philosophy of the day, 
becomes exalted to a paean of devout thanksgiv- 
ing and praise to the Creator of worlds in the 
human breast, as kindred of the birds circling 

274 



The Winds of Como 



high in the air, the olive trees of the slope, the 
flowers swaying on their stalks. The psalmist 
would have here sung of the pleasant pastures 
and tranquil waters where the kind Shepherd led 
His poor, foolish sheep for peace. 

O Pilgrim ! Inhale with full lungs the air to 
keep always in remembrance the hour ! Note the 
play of light as the ripples sparkle over the cur- 
rent, and the lake reflects the azure hue of the 
sky for a future time when dark shadows of 
trouble may gather around your path. Listen 
to the airy modulations of the music made by the 
south wind playing pranks through the mansion 
in contrast with all the blatant discords awaiting 
you in a return to cities. The moment is valu- 
able, full of sweetness and hope, in the stealing 
away of wisdom from the degenerate crowd in 
the effort to soar above the little scene of things. 

Who can resist castle-building, with half-shut 
eyes, when the south wind blows on Como? The 
pilgrim conjures up, in the waving of a fairy's 
wand, a castle of indolence on one of the heights, 
close-hid amidst embowering trees, served by in- 

275 



A World's Shrine 



visible menials, and more delightful than one of 
Pliny's villas. Here would he dwell and cast off 
care, as a garment, far from the world — while 
the breva prevails. 

Thus the summer day passes. The native Is 
complacent. The breva is not even a fair wind, 
but only the air of good weather, in popular 
parlance. 

** The wind seems to blow everywhere, yet there 
is no draught, and one does not catch cold," re- 
marks the wreck of influenza, testing the back of 
his head with an apprehensive hand, where each 
hair is standing on end in the gusts waving cur- 
tains and flapping awnings. 

With the sunset this beneficent current drops 
to calm. The mortal craft cherishes the souvenir 
of noon, when the silvery line heralded the advent 
of the breva by the route of Lecco, and the sail 
of life filled to the breeze and was wafted on the 
glittering waters of pleasure. 



276 



The Winds of Como 



11. The Baleful Wind. 

The July afternoon is sultry. An aspect of sus- 
pense and immobility is manifest in all nature, 
which is oppressive and menacing. The scent 
of oleander and jasmine, mingled with dusty 
honey-bloom, as of clover and cut grass, is heavy 
and languid. Clouds of a woolly opacity gather 
slowly about all the mountain peaks, and cling to 
the slopes in dense masses. The vapours move 
from the direction of the St. Gothard range, and 
an occasional hot puff of wind accompanies their 
advance. It is the breath of the scirocco — 
damp, enervating, and storm-laden. The hills 
above Varenna gloom to awful grandeur of black 
and purple tints in the sullen waiting of the ele- 
ments. The pilgrim observes these changes 
almost with bated breath, feeling like a fly at the 
base of a cliff about to be crushed by a cloud- 
bolt or granite rock. If the upper world is 
clothed in majestic sublimity, how can mere lan- 
guage describe the water of the lake? Whence 

has it borrowed first the wealth of varying hues 

277 



A World's Shrine 



outspread before the spectator, with the sombre 
hill sentinels rising above, and the angry swirl of 
mists obscuring the horizon? All the dying 
glories of day, quenched elsewhere, seem to 
linger on Como. The current is sapphire, merg- 
ing to emerald, opal, gold in the richest blending 
of tones. The surface has a liquid sheen and 
lustre. The boats cross through a transparent 
medium 'of melting jewels. The sun-god still 
holds sway. When, indeed, the science of colour- 
music shall be studied as the science of harmoni- 
ous sound has been, we may hope to grasp the 
secret of such beauty. 

Hark ! Was that thunder? The pilgrim envel- 
oped in waterproof habiliments, guide-book in 
hand, flees to Milan, or Turin, leaving the baleful 
wind in possession of the deserted Castle of Indo- 
lence, to wail in vestibule and salon, while torrents 
of rain invade garden paths and strip shrubbery, 
and scimitars of fire mark the passage of the 
boats on the pallid stretch of lake. 



278 



The Winds of Como 



III. The Night Wind. 
Oh, the cool night wind that sweeps down 
from the Alpine barrier on Como! It is the 
rival of the breva of caressing softness. Turn 
back from the lake shore in the gloaming, and 
receive the greeting of the mountain realm. 
Every cleft and ravine waft their aromatic odours 
of plant, vine, and blossom in the mingled spicy 
breath of juniper, thyme, and saxifrage. The face 
seems pressed against a rocky rampart and 
buried in ferns. Twilight is here, as in all Italy, 
Stendhal's hour of the Ave Maria, a moment of 
pensive meditation and melancholy souvenir. 
On the high ledges still gleam little hamlets, and 
a church tower that sends forth a liquid note of 
evening prayer to be carried far by the night 
wind. Midnight draws a veil of mystery over the 
shore, the lapsing waters, and the masses of ver- 
dure swathed in shadow. Dull oblivion of repose 
in closed chambers is sinful if only the Pilgrims, 
as children of a larger growth, can prop their eye- 
lids open and keep awake to enjoy the miracles of 

279 



A World's Shrine 



change of the Southern night. Oh, sweet and 
pure wind, where did you first spread your wings 
to start forth over glacier slope, through mossy 
dell, and down the giddy plunge of foaming cas- 
cades on your nocturnal rambles? Imagination 
runs riot in the darkness, full of fleeting shapes, 
taking form and vanishing amidst the swaying 
branches and foliage. If one could be metamor- 
phosed by the witchery of night into one of the 
feline tribe, and prowl, sure-footed, along the 
crags overhanging precipices, with eyes of green 
fire capable of piercing obscurity to the depths, 
and a sense of hearing so fine and alert for sound 
of danger, or lurking foe, that the ears of man- 
kind, in comparison, might be likened to the 
handles of coarse jugs, fashioned by Phoenician 
or Aztec potters ! To feel the glory of strength, 
and suppleness of movement of the animal king- 
dom, and roam among the mountains is an in- 
stinct born of the night wind rustling the roses 
and laurel of the terrace, and sobbing insistently 
beneath the eaves of the Castle of Indolence. As 
the hours wear on if the stupid pilgrim must doze, 

280 



The Winds of Como 



at least step out on the balcony at dawn. A cres- 
cent of golden, waning moon hangs in the sky, 
the lake below is a crystal shield, and beyond 
the opposite peaks a rose-pink flush deepens. 
The wind is lulled to stillness. 

The first man who visited the spot flits again 
along the heights. He is a vision, a mere con- 
jecture in the great human family. What manner 
of creature was he? An artist has depicted the 
last man standing on the world. The study is 
majestic, even awe-inspiring. Fain would we 
catch the image of the first man who gazed on 
Como through the veil of dim tradition, and 
early fable. Did he come merely as a tourist? 
According to Sir John Lubbock the love of travel 
is deeply implanted in the human breast. He 
surely was furnished with no other guide-book 
than his own eye and ear. Was he induced to 
settle in the delightful locality? There can be no 
doubt of his great antiquity. Baron Bunsen 
claims the age on the earth of the highest race 
as twenty thousand years. Switzerland is stated 
to have been inhabited by man for six or seven 

281 



A World's Shrine 



thousand years. The biologist and the geologist 
may place the finger of science on our hero, with 
a chuckle of triumph. As we seek him through 
that fog of vague surmise in the spring morning 
he was a troglodyte, a hunter, a herdsman, a 
fisherman, and even a rudimentary agriculturist. 
He is supposed to have early availed himself of 
the quarry of soft stone in the Val Bregaglia, 
known in Pliny's day, to fashion the soup-pot and 
platters of his hearth. Was he Gaul, Rhetian, 
Teuton, this vigorous figure full of a mysterious 
significance in the succeeding tide of movement 
of tribes and nations? He was a pioneer of the 
holiday pilgrims now flocking through the four 
gates of this exotic garden. He carved the bone 
with strange device of ornamentation, shaped the 
flint with cunning hand, and split the rebel rock 
by dint of effort, until a spark of fire flashed from 
the stone by which he made the world his own. 
Possibly he dwelt, at some period, on a shallow 
reach of the lake in a hut of planks supported on 
piles, and connected by a bridge with the land, 
lowering a basket through a trap-door to catch 

282 



The Winds of Como 



the fish which furnished his food, as well as the 
Swiss Lake inhabitants, and those of Lake Garda ; 
early architecture imitated by the City of Tcher- 
kask on the Don, and the Dyaks of Borneo. He 
was as free as air in that primeval existence, with 
all the instincts of his being keenly alert in self- 
preservation. As a hunter he rifled the eagle's nest 
of the crags, ranged the forest, and slew the wolf, 
badger, marmot, hare, and otter of the lake, with 
arrow and spear, to devour their flesh, and clothe 
himself in their skins. The bear was his lawful 
prey, as bruin is still of the son of the Grisons, 
who nails skull and paws, as a trophy, above the 
door of his chalet. As a herdsman he was shaggy 
and robust, like his descendants of the hills of the 
Plan di Tiva^io. His habitation was scarcely 
more than the hut of reeds, bound together with 
ropes of the Roman Campagna, a bed of boards 
covered with skins, a few cooking utensils, and a 
milk pail. The religion of that early time was 
the worship of the Gods of rocks, trees, and 
mountains. His daughter, the young girl who 
kept alive the flame on the hearth, kindled from 

283 



A World's Shrine 



sparks of flint, or two sticks rubbed together, 
while father and brothers hunted, or fished, was 
the prototype of the Vestal Virgin in guarding 
the symboHcal sacred flame of the Palladium. 

Thus life, through those earlier elements, has 
flowed on. 

In the morning mists the Bergamo shepherd 
folk, hardy, bronzed, and frugal, making ready 
to scale the Maloja Pass with their flocks in 
quest of summer herbage, probably resemble that 
first man, the common ancestor of the region. 

The son of the soil, the husbandman, pausing 
under a fig-tree, falcettOy or pruning-hook, in 
hand, and contemplating his sphere of labour 
amidst the vines, olives, and mulberries of the 
terraces, is his grandson. The fog melts to 
gauze, and softly drifts away. The peasant re- 
sumes his toil where the bean harvest bursts the 
shattered pod, light vetch, and bitter lupin grow. 
He knows, with Cicero, that he plants a tree not 
one berry of which he will ever gather. He is 
further aware that : 

" Never will the earth unaided 
Yield the ripe, nutritious barley." 

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The Winds of Como 



He has risen before the sun to begin his routine 
of work, to drink the water of his own well, and 
subsist on the fruits of his own fields. With the 
nightfall he will seek heavy and weariful slumber. 
His song through the sultry hours is to query of 
fate what he has to gain, or to lose by the power 
of emperors and kings. 

IV. The North Wind. 

The north wind is an unwelcome visitor. It 
pounces on the summer zone as a fierce foe sure 
of its prey, roughening the water to white-caps 
so that small craft hug the inlets, parching the 
soil, and withering the flowers, unless refreshed 
by continuous jets of spray from hose, and sprink- 
ling-pot. The effect on nerves is vaguely irri- 
tating. Acute wakefulness was sure to haunt 
the pillow of the pilgrim the previous night. 
Como shakes the head of disapproval The north 
wind emanates from the melting snows of the 
Engadine, and blights exotic vegetation. It is 
annoying and wearisome, as it mocks at screens 
and portieres, and watches an opportune moment 

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A World's Shrine 



to upset easel table, mirrors, and vases with rude, 
exuberant hilarity. 

Seek a sheltered nook between arbour draped 
by convolvulus, and a group of evergreen shrubs, 
and study the upper ranges of space visible 
through the foliage. Behold mountain and sky 
in all their remoteness of a clear atmosphere. 
Pinnacles of scarped stone, worn by storms and 
time, cut the deep, porcelain blue of the heavens 
in serrated outline of bold relief, with glistening 
threads of rills descending here and there, and 
masses of amethyst crags piled in an amphi- 
theatre in the direction of Colico and the Spliigen. 
These mute guardians of the portals of the lake 
world imbue the spirit of the wayfarer with inde- 
finable longing of aspiration: 

" He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find 
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; 
He who surpasses, or subdues mankind 
Must look down on the hate of those below." 

The clouds reign above, moving in soft masses 
of fleecy vapour. Aristophanes might again de- 
scribe them on this spot to-day : 

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The Winds of Como 



'* We dominate the earth, we show our faces to man 
in changing every instant, yet last to eternity! We 
spring forth from the bosom of our father the ocean 1 
We climb the snowy summits of the mountains without 
losing breath, and, suspending ourselves at these 
heights, we watch our reflection in the azure waters 
below. If we cease to listen to the solemn murmur 
of the waves we begin to hear the subdued harmonies 
of divine rivers. Our role is marvellous ! Have we 
not received from Jupiter the mission to make sparkle 
in the eyes of men the riches of the firmament? Does 
not our light envelope separate the living world from 
cold, unpitying, eternal death?" 

The atmosphere embraces all, bathes, fills, 
composes the forest tree, the grass, and grain of 
the field, the fruits of these shores, almond, 
orange, grape of the vine. Nay ! Is not the very 
soul of man clothed with air? 

The winds of Como are played on the instru- 
ment of hill and dale, and the pilgrims to a 
world's shrine come and go with new generations. 



287 



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